HOLY RELICS
Holy Relics, not the piece
of dismembered bodies
that my religion adores
and venerates in altar stones
and golden reliquaries. No,
there is nothing so macabre
that smells of the grave
in the holy relics I venerate.
The relics I venerate are those
in two boxes of my parents.
I pour through the contents
realizing that these bits and
pieces were that which my
mother and father treasured
enough to set them aside
for posterity, to remind them
of what was truly holy in their lives.
The bits and pieces contained
within, earrings, some mismatched,
and old watch, photographs of
people long deceased, report
cards, Valentine Day greetings,
death certificates, diplomas,
and old watches, those
crayon engraved construction paper
cards created by my brother,
my sister and I for those
special days in the calendar year.
I hold and touch these treasures
my parents’ eyes once gazed upon,
the sacredness of these objects
transferred into my hands
as I hold and finger them.
My paternal grandfather’s
pocket watch fob which
my grandmother fashioned,
braided from her long
brown hair; my father’s
high school graduation ring,
Turtle Creek High School
long worn away on its surface,
this same ring that served
as his wedding band,
the holy card printed at
my maternal grandmother’s
death held in the twelve
year old hands of my mom.
The sacredness of these objects
tell the stories of my parents’
lives, their loves, their sorrows,
their hopes, their joys, their
values and achievements.
I finger these sacred reminders
of lives well lived, embraced
by loved ones, friends, by God,
and am cognizant that one
day, I will leave my own
unique bits and pieces,
the holy relics of my life,
to be poured over by my
children, grandchildren,
and those yet to be born.
