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Ceramic love

There is a shelf
where one-winged seraphs rest,
where saints and resin-cast martyrs find
solitude when, through rough wear,
they have lost their heads, giving them
identity beyond their mold,
outside their icons.
Where the virgin mothers go when they
have lost their hands, where magi
hide their shame, arriving to greet
the babe without their myrrh, their gold,
sometimes their camel or perhaps
missing their fine hats.

Here, three cherubs weep together, wingless.
Beside them, their broken pinions--
glass, clay, polyurethane,
denuded angels who flew
too near the floor. One would play
a harp, but for her hand.
Here, two black boots, kept in pair,
hollow inside. Do not mourn the Santa
who once wore them. He has moved on,
sleigh-tired, somewhere, he is at peace.

Then there are the animals. One donkey,
pewter, unbreakable beast. But separate
from Christ, distanced from the miracle
of the Savior, he sits at the feet of
a maimed, monstrous Gaspar, too small, too fine
to be ridden by this ceramic giant.
Francis's doves, torn from his hand.
Sometimes they maintain their grip,
and the generous saint gives them solace,
perhaps forgiveness, even as they clutch
his wounded hand with dove-claws. Or
a lioness, thrown from Noah's Ark
by a brush with a customer's coat,
depriving the world of lions.

Shining among them, an angel,
order of thrones, adorned in
burnished gold. Her dress swirls
around her, as if she leaped to
her pedastal in praise. Grace
makes her shine, divine love
and gold leaf. She raises her arms
to her maker, but stops, broken,
her smooth gold skin marred by
white resin. Who can reach higher,
without a hand? "You made me,"
she says. "Cast me, shaper. And
cast me, lord, to the earth.
Remake me," she would say,
if not for her eternal, perfect smile.
"For a child believed you,
A child thought I was as beautiful
as you made me to be."


I've been wanting to write that one for a long time. I had one of my favorite hymns--sweet adoration--running through my head. I can't find the lyrics somewhere where I can easily link to them, so I'll just hide them behind a cut text.

Sweet Adoration

Sweet adoration flows from Your children,
Glory and honor and praise
are a part of our constant devotion,
our love set in motion
for the Divine One Who reigns in our hearts

When I am troubled by heartache and struggle,
I come and adore You,
You take me away from all worldly sensation and endless temptation,
All of my trials are lost in Your love

If I lived forever,
I know I could never
begin to repay You for all You have given
so Father, please take me,
break and remake me,
More like the Savior who reigns in our hearts



( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 17th, 2004 06:52 pm (UTC)
You made a smile here.
Oct. 17th, 2004 06:52 pm (UTC)
Yay :) I've been trying to make myself write for a while, it's been a slow few months for inspiration.
Oct. 17th, 2004 08:59 pm (UTC)
That's a beautiful, elegant poem. :D I like it a lot.
Oct. 18th, 2004 04:09 pm (UTC)
Just remember the Velveteen Rabbit.
Oct. 20th, 2004 03:50 pm (UTC)
And off it goes into The Messenger at your mother's request. It absolutely enchanted the staff when she read it at the end of the meeting. A few people seemed absolutely shocked that it was written by someone they've met before. Or something. "THAT? Was written? By your SON? THAT?" And your mother says, "I personally think he's a genius."
Oct. 21st, 2004 04:05 am (UTC)
Awww :) Thanks for the note, I feel warm and squishy now. That *could* be the salad bar and after-effects of the chocolate cake. (mutter...wish I'd edited it...)
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )