Holy Name Cathedral, Chicago
|by Elise Paschen|
". . . Prayer book and Mother, shot themselves last Sunday." Gwendolyn Brooks The spire of Holy Name Cathedral rose like a prayer above Chicago Avenue. I thumbed a leather-bound book in catechism class, recited the Hail Mary. Fire and devils blazed at night. The nuns told my mother I had a calling.
Read the rest of the poem here at Poets.org.
You really have to love a short poem. I've written before about how fascinating I find them. Brevity is not a strength of mine, so I'm awestruck when a poet can weave magic using a few short lines.
But I digress...I was so enamored with this poem that I absolutely had to find more by Elise Paschen. Here's a bit from one that tells sort of a heart-wrenching and uncomfortable story, it's called "Voir Dire:"
When he phoned the next morning from another state,
saying that, after our dance,
after my exit, in full view of the guests,
the waiters at long tables
of open bars, she lunged at him, tearing his tux,
his dress shirt, scratching his chest,
drawing blood with her nails, demanding a response:
"Why can't you love only me?"
You can read the rest here, at The Poetry Foundation.
Finally, I'll share two more, that you can click these links to read. They're worth it...
Be sure to check out the Poetry Friday roundup over at On the Way to Somewhere, a new member of the Poetry Friday host club.