God moves in mysterious ways. by Michelle Lizet Flores

I knelt for my mother

at the altar.

I was not greedy,

never asked

for a miracle.

I just wanted God

to give her strength

and rest.

Four days later

she had a stroke.

I used to tell myself

evil was not God's fault--bad things happen.

All we can do is move on.

Knowing this does not

make it hurt

any less.

Now I wonder if I

have ever believed.

There is a hole

in my chest

no Spirit

could fill.

My mother has been dying

for a year and a half now.

She's lost in

her own eyes.

She hears bells

I wish I could--

a ringing that keeps

her awake

praying.

All I can hear her repeat

is Oh, Lord, my Father.

I can't help but wonder

if He's purposefully

ignoring her.

Children should bury

their parents. That is the order

of things.

Knowing this does not

make the digging

any easier.

This poem appears in Michelle Lizet Flores' book, Invasive Species, published by Finishing Line press in 2024. The cover art of this book is amazing, and it is a painting entitled The Upside Down by Dimelza Broche. I encourage you to read the whole book!

Anyone who has lost their mother will, I think, connect to this poem, especially if you were an adult who had to watch your mother decline over a long period. I think the poet does an excellent job here with the speaker's struggle with religion, especially since her mother is obviously a believer.

I feel so much here is powerful: praying to give someone both strength and rest, a hole/in my chest/no Spirit/could fill, and the mother being lost in/her own eyes. Strong phrases in an already heightened poem.

My favorite part of this poem is the end. In the 3rd stanza, the speaker assures us, "All we can do is move on." Obviously, the entire poem contradicts this. And in the last stanza, that point is made even more emotional.

We are told that the order in this life is for parents to die before their children. And we understand that. Our hearts break when a child dies--we imagine the gut-wrenching pain the parents are feeling. Even when someone's child is an adult--it feels wrong.

Knowing this does not

make the digging

any easier.

The speaker understands all this but presents a counterpoint. Had she said something like, "knowing this does not make my mother's death any easier," would have sufficed. But the poet gives us an image--digging--and we know without thinking about it that she means digging the grave.

This is not, of course, something any of us (at least most of us--if not, what is your life?!?) has done or will ever do. We pay the peaople who do this. Yes, the poet meant this figuratively, of course. But by stating it, and it being unexpected, we cannot help but picture it in our heads.

And that is the power of imagery.

See you on wednesday!