Vestiges, by Radiance Angelina Petro



Radiance Angelina Petro



It was a soft beginning—

just his voice weaving

invitations for me to live

my way into his breathing

and the spaces between the little

pauses before he said: “Well, brother,”

“Well, sister.”


His love does not fit

into practical life.  He inclines

to the marvelous, and so hearts

careen towards him, turning

the day-to-day upside down.


Meanwhile, I blunder ahead.

My wants lead me where

there is nothing to see but him.

He uses the wear and tear of the seasons,

and the fear blocking the entry of light

to awaken secrets of his always

and everywhere grace.


The persistent art of his patience

crosses thresholds of distance,

snatching me from the edge

of the maw of emptiness that touches

everything I do.


I want a soft ending, where he

lifts me, as he would a child,

from the vestiges of memory,

where all that is left is the eternity

of his voice; where the only place

left for me to go is the cradle of his arms.







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