The Death of Anselmo Luna by Alberto Ríos
In honor of Cinco de Mayo (a holiday widely celebrated in Texas, at least), here’s a poem from a southwestern poet with Mexican heritage. I am reminded of Death Comes for the Archbishop, and I think the imagery in this poem is outstanding.
The Death of Anselmo Luna
By Alberto Ríos
Since he was the priest,
No one could say for certain about Anselmo Luna.
What began as a lark
One slow afternoon of interminable chores
Regarding candles and residue on the walls,
Became his drawings:
First of the saints,
Then the twelve Stations of the Cross,
The sketches of simpler remembrances.
All of these chiaroscuros he made
In and from the soot on the walls of this church,
A work that moved into years
And which finally filled his life.
What began as a lark became the seed
Of his miracle, a simple
Moving of a finger along a pillar
Just to see, was three enough
To require cleansing,
This test also used on parked cars,
A line spelling wash me in the soil of a window.
He died while perched on a ladder
High behind the altar, underneath
The fine woodwork: that moment
As he fall, and as he made a mark
Not unlike a moustache
Where none should have been,
He died already partway
Toward heaven. It was said
His soul took the advantage,
Leaping out from his body
Right there, stepping from his ribs
As he had stepped
On the rungs of the ladder.
It was a strong soul, muscular,
On account of his years of devoted effort,
And it knew like an animal what to do
When the moment came.
Current Tea: captivating caramel (black tea with caramel flavoring)
