My writing time is short today, even though I've been up for awhile. I needed to get some grading done, and I'll be leaving earlier today than usual to see if Publix has some bread and baked goods (because of Easter and the store being closed, the Monday bread run didn't work).
I wrote this poem last week after Notre Dame burned. I don't know if it will work once that event fades from our memory, so I decided to post it here.
Lessons from the Cathedral
The cathedral teaches
us that wood burns faster
than metal or stone, and ancient
wood has waited centuries
to show how brightly
it can blaze.
The falling spire pierces
not only the nave, but also our hardened
hearts. How will we now navigate?
The gargoyles keep their own counsel,
as they always have.
The rest of us watch the stained
glass illuminated by the flames
that frame the arches
and the cage of reconstruction.
Napoleon’s site of self-coronation
burns, but the work of daily life must
continue. I revise the accreditation
documents again. Others complete
their taxes, clean, make sure to feed
the children, the pets, all the helpless
creatures. Parisians gather to sing
the hymns we had forgotten
that we needed.