It’s a new month, and Bob has asked us to think about the color(s) we project to others, colors that act as a guiding light. Find his thoughtful consideration here:
Color and Light
i. light
on her second birthday as a widow
we shop for pillows, yellows and grays
for furniture she doesn’t have
a couch she’ll sit on without him
in a house he won’t live in
she’ll organize forks and mixing bowls
and store his record player
she’ll memorize the light switches
so the rooms will recognize her
every morning, stand
in her white kitchen
and let light slowly fill her
iii. guiding light
when faith fails
when rosaries unbead
when ritual prayer lodges somewhere
in withered memory
then you relent
let love take you by the elbows
walk with you into the store
and pick out yellow pillows
throw them on the floor
the sofa and chair will eventually arrive
a house will become a home
ii. color
when you can choose any color,
any color to pair with your sad
sometimes color chooses us
you could pick bossy, impertinent red-
red painted on lips with an unsteady hand
you could pick defiant purple – pretend you are fine
people will marvel at you
picking up pieces of your life
neutrals are too neutral
though wouldn’t it be wonderful to float
like leaving the dentist’s office after a root canal –
no one can see your pain
is color-ache a thing?
when it hurts to turn your head, lift a knee,
breathe?
where then do you go for guiding light?
thank god, for the camelia, the rhododendron,
the trailing rose in winter
a little nitrogen to chase away yellowed leaves
leave the frost-burnt leaves to the wind
hope they are hardy enough
to make it through another cold night
after all, you are
iv. epilogue
My brother-in-law died in August 2021. 58. Glioblastoma. 9 months. He and my sister were married 28 short years. This week, we celebrated her second birthday –without him. It was quite a year. She sold her house – without him. Bought a new one – without him. She’ll move in this weekend – without him. My sisters and I have walked with her – a knee-buckling, stomach-wrenching, broken-hearted walk. Learned what it means to be present, to honor grief. Somewhere between COVID and cancer and bone ash, I left my lifelong, Jesuit-trained, Catholic faith on the side of a road – and I haven’t returned for it. 63 years. A guiding light. A map I knew by heart. Lately I’ve gone in search of the whys and whats of this. I unwrap the Nicene Creed: Yes, to my Creator-God. Yes, to Jesus. Yes, even to resurrection, Spirit, saints. Hell yes to forgiveness. Apostolic? Institutional words ring hollow. How do I walk-the-talk? Yesterday we celebrated my baby sister’s birthday. Met her in her new house. Unwrapped candles and hurricane lamps, shopped for furniture. We drank wine, mules, munched on poke nachos and calamari.
sometimes faith is found
in yellow pillows
and sisters are guiding lights
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
January 31, 2023
photos courtesy of pixabay
Patricia Franz is a kidlit writer and published poet. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Patricia, there is so much to unpack here. As you state in your poem, each color has its own personality and character. Do we choose our color or does the color choose us? I think that we tend to seek out the color we need at the moment whether is a color we need in our lives of if it a color others need us to be at that moment. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
I like that Bob – we seek the color we need at the moment.
I’m glad that you can be there for your sister. Since my father died and my mother has dementia, my sister and I have gotten much closer. Death is heartbreaking, especially at such a young age. Your haiku says it all: “sisters as guiding lights.” Thanks for being honest about your faith. God will not abandon you even if you never go into a church building again.
Thank you, Margaret. I do have faith in God’s steadfast love.
Patricia, your poem is filled with loss and love. Your illustrations are exquisite. Thank goodness your baby sister has yellow pillows and sisters to walk this path with her. I can’t think of a stronger and more hopeful color to put on a gray couch.
Thank you, Ramona. Yes, my sisters are truly among the greatest of gifts in my life.
I’m in tears as one of the sisters .. and this was one beautiful piece!
For so many reasons
I love it and I love that you could write about it
could not do this without you
You never fail to touch my soul, Patricia. In “guiding light” and “epilogue” you said what I feel but can’t quite yet admit. Thank you for that, my friend.
I almost didn’t post this. But part of what I’m learning about poetry is to be honest. Thank you, Rose.
You’ve made those yellow pillows say so much. Thank you for all. I think a lot about color. Today I am feeling beachy blues, deep and bright and full of light. Thank you!
Blue is such a good color for serenity, Irene.
Patricia, your words remind me of past losses and healing with a sister, still and evermore close as we have always been (though always changing, different, too), of fears of future losses that I approach ever-closer, and of the light and dark that build the tapestries of our lives, and which we wrap ourselves in for comfort, mourning, and connection with our humanness.
Mmm…light and dark build the tapestries of our lives. Yes.
First, this whole post was beautifully-written, poignant and heartfelt. Second, the part about leaving behind something that you used to believe in resonated with me. The years since 2017 have changed my views on a number of topics. It amazes me that there are things I would have gone my whole life not knowing. Anyway, thanks for sharing!
Leaving something behind is hard when it’s intentional.
Patricia: I commend you for your courage and honesty, and I believe God’s love walks with you. Thank you so much for sharing this journey. It speaks volumes.
thank you, Karen. I will admit I had to dig deep in the courage well to hit post.
It’s a loving post, Patricia, especially for your sister, then all your family. I like the way the choices lean toward some certain abstract, one of this, some of that, what feels good right now. I am sorry to hear of this sad, too early, loss.
I suppose its reflective of where I’m at…”one of this, some of that”. Thank you, Linda.
Patricia, so much in this post filled me with sorrow and gratitude at the same time. The twin yokes of life. Thank you for this. I’m so glad I have sisters. We haven’t walked this journey yet, but eventually…
Yes, sorrow and gift. Sometimes they are one and the same. Thank you, Laura.
Patricia, your heart rolls over your words in each poem. There is tenderness in your thoughtful thoughts about the sisterhood you hold dear and life changes. I feel that each one of the SJT writing community are filled with the spirit in different ways. We stretch our own insight of topics as you did in this blog. While reading your words, I felt as though we were sitting by a fire pit sharing our inner being. Thank you for sharing your inner self in such an open way. Poetry allows us to spill our emotions on to a printed page.
It’s a lesson in humility and honesty, isn’t it?
Thank you, Carol.
Patricia, your piece is beautiful, heartfelt, and so much more. I love your honesty. I am sorry for the loss of your brother-in-law. The love your sisters share is beautiful, sacred, a strong bond. I love that you have found faith in your relationships with your sisters, and they are your guiding lights. How wonderful it is and must feel to share this trust, belief-faith with your sisters. Thank you for sharing and your inspiration.
Truly, my sisters are a gift. Thank you, Gail.
Oh, Patricia. First, I’m sorry for such a horrible loss. And, I thank you for walking with your sister in law. It is gut-wrenching, that grief. And, Catholicism and I have an uneasy relationship. I no longer practice. I just watched a wonderful youtube shared by Laura Shovan on her Feb. Poetry group that reminds me so very much of this poem and the experience of being in this place.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qXbWrGmk1E
There is so much wisdom in the feminine — I know that the care you’ve given your sister in law you also receive as it’s in relationship. Thank you for letting us share this bit in your poetry.
Gosh thank you for sharing the link, Linda. What a beautiful reflection on how we relate as women.
Well, now I’m crying! As someone who had to walk alongside her brother and niece and nephew with such a great loss of their wife and mom to cancer, this hit me in all of the places. I really love how you nestled in those pillows–so tangible and real.
Oh, Marcie, I know we are blessed to carry and share grief and loss – with our loved ones and through our writing. I’m finding the writing is helpful.
Beautifully written, touching post. Heartfelt poems. Appreciate the candor, can feel the depths you explored and found words for. Sorry to hear about your brother-in-law. It is heartening to know your sister has such strong support to help navigate her grief. I’ve been thinking about loss too, with a friend/former neighbor dying of cancer. She wasn’t expected to live past Thanksgiving, but is still hanging on. Her family is struggling so much.
Every death is as unique as every birth. I hope you are able to walk with your friend on her journey.
What a peace-filled, glorious reflective post on the power of yellow. It is an alternately strong, energetic color and a soft, restorative one. Inseparable from hope. I find the photos almost as uplifting as your beautifully-crafted lines on living with great loss. That poem at the end on faith and yellow pillows and sisters as guiding light… it is a hymn of praise and gratitude. How much we need each other – and the yellow of soft pillows, on which to rest our aching souls.
Yes, how much we need one another!
Wow. The honesty, the beauty, the heartbreak of this post is breathtaking. Thank you, Patricia, for sharing resilient spirit found in your sisterly bonds. Being a ‘recovering Catholic’ myself, I can relate as well. Hugs to you and yours.
Thank you, Bridget. I think there are a lot of us.
This is a beautiful post filled with love that shines through the heartbreak. I am so sorry for the heartbreak and grief.
Thank you, Kay.
A gut-punch of a post, Patricia – and beautiful in its honest renderings. I’ll share with my husband who does a lot of death & dying and grief work with patients and others. I’m grateful your sister has you all.
It was sort of scary to be so honest, to tell you the truth. But your husband likely knows…naming it is part of the healing.
Your poem series is full of surprising notes on grief and how to live through it: “she’ll memorize the light switches/so the rooms will recognize her”. The yellow pillows. I have a turquoise comforter that I hold on to because of what it meant when I bought it during a grievous time. Please do not apologize for or warn us about “heaviness”–this is what poetry is for, to arm us with humanity to get through the best and worst times.
Thank you, Heidi. I suppose it was more of a warning for those who may not have had the capacity for heavy. I really appreciate your note.
Thank you for pushing post, Patricia. I’ve experienced a lot of loss in my life – death, desertion, dementia and have left behind traditions. Your poem is beautiful — it holds all the feels.
This stanza will stay with me:
then you relent
let love take you by the elbows
walk with you into the store
and pick out yellow pillows
Donna, I hope you, too, will surrender to love’s taking you by the elbows. It may not be picking out yellow pillows, but perhaps other small joys.
Thank you for this post, Patricia. I have a friend who is a widow (her husband was in his early forties). She is also moving out of the home she shared with her husband.
I’m glad the poem resonated, Laura. Every loss is its own story.