My heart aches
remembering your splendor
your glory.
I hold tight to the sensation
of seeing you for the first time.
Stepping out from the Metro stairs
you grandeur framed by the
pink light
of the rising sun.
Walking through your doors
always takes my breath away.
Your graceful arches
the stories that your
stained glass tells
with intricate detail
and vibrant colors.
Fond memories of a younger self
gathering with eager, bight-eyed students.
Studying your nave
your famous flying buttresses.
It is the overwhelming sense of hope
that you inspire
that I hold onto today.
Just last summer
I entered your doors with
a heavy mind.
I gazed at your stained glass
overcome with a powerful feeling of
comfort and hope.
You wrapped your arms around me
and whispered in my ear:
Surrender
Trust
All is well
All will be well.
United in an outpouring of
grief,
your facade graces
Facebook photos
serving as the stunning background
of smiling tourists.
The image I hold onto
is one of your interior
after the blaze
of what remains;
your frame
your arches
the bones of your
body.
And on the altar
a cross
surrounded by light
the light of your
Soul.
A reminder of your
eternal
resilience.
I have not been to Notre Dame but your words struck a chord with me and I felt I was standing there next to you looking up at the beauty of this cathedral. So powerful. Thanks for sharing.
This is heartbreaking – your poem and the fire. I was just there last October and it is just so sad! I love the lines “your frame, your arches, the bones of your body….” It turns the building into a symbol of much more.
There’s something about the many tourist photos of Notre Dame popping up on social media. I opted not to post any, But like you, I’ve spent time recalling the stunning structure and those I visited with. The apostrophe form of your poem emphasizes the heartache you feel from the destruction of much of the iconic cathedral.
I couldn’t believe – on such a sunny, glorious day in my part of the world – that this horror was happening. It seemed to me that the world stopped for a moment to pray (a comment on Twitter: “I am an atheist, but I am praying”). I can’t wrap my mind around the pricelessness of what is lost – but your words here, even in mourning, are uplifting and hopeful. I hear that many things have survived. The cathedral’s home page says this: “More than a historical monument … since its origins, it is the living stones, formed by the believers, that give it its true existence.” Reports say that the stone construction has been saved (your image of the “frame,” “the bones of your body”). As you concluded so beautifully, the soul of the church remains, will go on, will overcome. Such a moving, beautiful memorial, Krista, made more so by your personal experiences there.
Beautiful reflection.
Thanks for writing and sharing of this sad, sad occurance.
Lovely tribute to the historic landmark. I have never been there, but can tell how impactful just being there might feel from your words.
I love how this poem captures both your personal connection to Notre Dame and a larger sense of the tragedy and hope in its resilience.