When my daughter broke her foot, misshapen
scream at the bottom of the slide we built ourselves
in the joy of our children’s joy,
I wondered if God feels this too—
His cliffs and those that slip off them,
His oceans swiftly closing up lungs
like a thief in a jewelry box, emptied.
So many beautiful creatures devouring
beautiful creatures, even as some of our own
bodies devour the body, cells innocent
in their hunger. I held her hand while she fell
asleep, a mercy, and skilled hands set it straight.
I forget—did God make death? Or only
the knowledge of it—hanging on a tree, growing
brighter in the sun, so as to catch the eye.
Another Doubting Sonnet
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President Donald Trump ordered U.S. flags to be flown at half mast in honor of Pope Francis. Mr. Trump, one of many U.S. political leaders remembering the late pope, called Francis “a good man.”
In his brief final testament, Pope Francis asked to be buried at Rome’s Basilica of St. Mary Major and said he had offered his suffering for peace in the world.
Pope Francis died April 21 after suffering a stroke and heart attack, said the director of Vatican City State’s department of health services. The pope had also gone into a coma.
Loving God, today, we grieve for our beloved Pope Francis.