I thank God that Mother Cabrini’s body
Is subject to the laws of decay. To me
It is a disservice when flesh fails to fall
From bones as God for His glory sometimes
Allows. I speak thus for as you know
The flesh is my failing. That it shall fall
Is my salvation. That it shall not conquer
Is my hope. That it shall rise again
Commanding as it does is my fear.
That it shall rise changed is my faith.”
I think I can love this simple saint
Who built high schools, and whose bones
I came upon today. I laughed slightly
At the wax mask which smiles so surely there
Through her box of glass (no longer may
Artificial faces frighten one
Who remembers none for long are real.)
Blessed Mother Cabrini lives here
Her saint’s life I said. She sees me
All, but I see her wax mask;
I see her nun’s habit given form
By bones which carried about her flesh gone
Now. The bones will rise again to carry
Changed flesh and I may walk I
Might walk with her! Whom I seek
To venerate: I try to love, to pray.
Moisten me with the dust from her bones.
I see their shape – help me love them. Help
Me think on breast white doves which rose
They say above earth-smelling fields at her
Birth and trembled there waiting as I
Wait upon another birth. Mine
Is dry waiting. Her mask stares. She
Stirs: Ah, her bones move me!
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