Bright Hill

Hodegetria (Ὁδηγήτρια, Gr.) —
       "She who shows the way" 


Our names will be carved on the base 
          of the grave marker in the family plot—
     right now, for those of us still around,
birth year followed by a hyphen, then
           a clean space (to be filled in when 
     it's time). The year I was born, these 
251 acres were consecrated as burial 
           ground. The name is taken from Jasna
     Góra, a church in Poland where a black
Madonna and Child painted on linden panels
           preside over the altar. Two gashes 
     stripe her right cheek. There are more  
on her neck: wounds sustained from an  
           attempted theft in the 1400s. Mere
     strokes, wing-like smudges. But I believe
moths are always a visitation from our
           ancestors; and once, as I sat vigil 
     by my father's casket, a hummingbird 
brushed the glass briefly then was gone—   
           an apparition. I am surprised that I 
     don't think this writes an earlier order 
for our deaths, though our names will, 
           one day, truly mark the spaces where 
     we'll be laid to rest on that bright hill.