by Andrea Bear
photo by Andrea Bear
“It’s Jesus’ phone number,” says Sr. Odetta
I made the sign
I saw the Grand Tetons but it’s so far away
Oh My glorious world!
Clocks separate tepid decades
Until the sorrow commences
Rubbing my mother’s leg… that morning
Cadenced beads storm to the bridge but don’t
cross over.
She isn’t here,
beads aren’t working…
Paralyzed veil of to DO… I am forced to BE
Fr. Joe’s confessional -1 Corinthians 13:1-13
My angelic tongue cannot move the mountain
Dad’s walker lays on the ground
There’s only one Chief.
Hope looks hostile-This is how it must BE
The white flag waves a rosacea heart
The beads roll steadfast- a silent austere escape to the vines
Static peace not working…
But Mimi’s cookies and Sunday dinners cross the bead bridge
Volleyball courts and lake trips weave the tapestry
A flicker of joy
I used the same phone number
Sorrow and joy meet each other on the bridge of beads.
They get along
Patio visits with dad.
I wash his hair
He likes the coffee from the outside world
I promise I’ll be back
I return to the Grand Tetons – White Caps display
His grandeur
Stars veil over my glorious world. He shines luminously.
The beads roll again- She is there.
I return to dad
He holds the beads with his frail poked veins one last time.
My rosacea heart beats
Sorrow, joy, glory illuminate my beads.
Through Her, He was always there.
I am loved.
Andrea Bear is the author of the women’s fiction book, Grieving Daughters’ Club, and Cohost to the Mourning Glory Podcast. She has a fondness for St. Elizabeth Anne Seton and Our Lady of Sorrows. You can check out her website at www.andreabearauthor.com and follow her on Instagram.