Generations

By: Angelica Brown

Generations 
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She’s not the elder I would have chosen 
Easily slighted, uptight and bitter 
I was there at the last mass she ever performed 
Her tight lipped blessing over jesus’ body and blood 
Her stigmata was a slow crumpling 
Of wrists and ankles to cancer 
Reunited to the earth that birthed her 
She was mad when I couldn't make it to the beach with her 
She loved listening to the symphony 
She was so self serious 
She wanted her hands in everything 
I see myself in her more than I care to admit 
I pray my rosary for her and hope she finds peace 
And know that she guides me 

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Angelica Brown

is a writer and youth worker from Portland, Oregon. Her writing has been most recently featured in Geez Magazine, and she is currently working on a collection of poems about the apocalypse. ​