Vestiges
By
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.