Grave of the Angelic Pastor
I spoke to stone today
As if it was you
Your photograph was there
With an unnatural background
Indistinct clouds and rays of light
Surrounding your face
You were always so engaged in life
It is strange to see you still
And without a context
Even if it is only in a photo
The stone has your name
First, middle, last
The stone tells when you were born
I never knew your middle name
Or your birth date
Until you died
It feels profane
For me to read those things from a stone
In a public place
Unveiled and plain
As if they were never intimate or private
Maybe in death
Privacy is gone
Maybe in death
We belong equally to anyone who remembers us
It seems unjust
But it is a back door for me
Death is the equalizer
So that I can love you
No less than anyone still here
And I can hope that
If you do remember me
I am just as significant
As anyone else
Who can read your middle name
And your birth date
From a stone that bears
A motionless image of your smiling face
In memoriam: Fr. Thomas Showalter, SOLT (1957-2013)
Terri Kimmel
