The Labyrinth at St. James Cathedral

Last Thursday my daughter, Emily, and I made pilgrimage into the city in search of the outdoor labyrinth at St. James Cathedral on Huron. The weather was sunny and cool. Emily and I both wore brown boots (good for kickin' up crap on the walk). Once we'd paid way too much for parking we walked three blocks to the site. The laybrynth was not too large, making the turns feel a bit tight; painted with purple paint on a concrete courtyard. Two sculptures greeted us. One, an angel with a bow and arrow at his feet, the other a bright, red, angular and modern piece. We were surround by the sounds of the city: car horns, people walking, talking, the occasional screech of wheels. Two pigeons joined us in the courtyard along with two janitors and the chapel provost. Afterward, the following poem was born.

1968 Cornerstone










love

she walks a circuitous path
wondering if you see and know
the twists and turns

do the disappointments go
unnoticed, fleeting and faded as
days ripped off a calendar and
tossed in a metal basket

she goes to the labyrinth
at St. James in Chicago
surrounded by hundreds of
high rise details hidden
corporately, blurred behind
blinded beehive windows

two pigeons, one white and tan,
the other iridescent gray
along with her daughter
walk with her
circling, stepping unsure
there is cooing and racing
a song of sorts, laughter,
a gentle smile to
accompany the questions

with camera lifted validating
the moment, marking it Real
out of a corner of eye, corner of frame
appears the church’s cornerstone stamped
1968, the year of her birth and
she knows you number her days

love
love
love
love
love
love
love
love
Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all you who remain of the house of Israel, you whom I have upheld since you were conceived and have carried since your birth. Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.
Isaiah 46:3-4