10-11-2021, 06:52 AM
Revision :
Via Crucis
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.”
Mary Oliver
It is a journey whose path
I have retraced too many times.
Identical steps and faux pas committed
in repetition like a mantra.
What if one of the markers
That measured a life no longer existed?
Perhaps that basement apartment was no longer
the first home for an immigrant family of six.
Their ethnicity supplanted via the cultural divide
between the two solitudes.
Suppose it did not include the first
elementary school I ever attended
or the first memories of the depanneur
I walked by every morning where
sports collectibles and comic books were
purchased along with jelly-bellies and jawbreakers.
Maybe it did not encompass
the subway station where I last spoke
to my first love and how
in turning away her affections
I refuted my own – crushing her
aspirations to forge a life
that she will never know.
Imagine a now empty and deserted St. Rita’s church
where I received my first communion
adopting the Christian name John – not
fashioned after the Baptist but the Beatle
whom I so much wanted to, but
could never emulate, was not built.
Let us suppose the final leg of the trek comes
To a close at the outdoor hockey rink
in St. Paul de la Croix park, the first place
where I started to skate on thin ice.
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Via Crucis
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.”
Mary Oliver
It is a journey whose path he has retraced
Too many times to enumerate.
Identical steps and faux pas committed
In repetition like a mantra.
What if one of the markers
That measured a life no longer existed?
What if the basement apartment was no longer
The first home for an immigrant family
Of six whose thread-bare existence
Was supplanted via the cultural divide
Between the two solitudes?
What if it did not include the first elementary school
Ever attended or the first memories
Of the depanneur where sports collectibles
And comic books were purchased
Along with jelly-bellies and jawbreakers?
What if it did not encompass
The subway station where he last spoke
To his first love and how
In turning away her affections
He refuted his own – crushing her
Aspirations to forge a life
That he will never know?
What if a now empty and deserted St. Rita’s church
Where he received his first communion
Adopting the Christian name John – not fashioned
After the Baptist but after the Beatle
Whom he so much wanted to, but
Could never emulate, was not built?
What if the final leg of the trek comes
To a close at the outdoor hockey rink
in St. Paul de la Croix park, the first place
where he started to skate on thin ice?