There was recently a death in my wife’s family. It was no-one I knew. He was close to her father, however, who now lives with us. When something like this happens, my wife will want to visit one of the Catholic churches in town, presumably to pray for the soul of the departed.
Let’s go down
Let’s go down to the masonry
that holds the high-arched doors
and in to the pews beyond them
to offer our inmost prayers.
Let’s go down to the marble font
and cross our heads with the water
as we remember with all our thoughts
one who is no longer with us.
Let’s go down to the heart of the nave
where ancients circle the altar
and bow our heads in the solemn light
that eases the restive soul.
Let’s go down to the effigies
that peer from their quiet coves
and light the vigils with incense sticks
for one who has gone before.
Let’s go down to the redbrick church,
the one where spirits dream,
and kneel at the creaky old wooden pews
to pray for the recent dead.
