The Cathedral Knows Your Name

A poem

Hallgrímskirkja church in Reykjavik, Iceland. Credit: Dave Bowman

He did not come to kneel.

Not in the way they taught him,

not in the way he used to,

small palms pressed together

at Nonna’s side,

her rosary a whisper

between Hail Marys and recipes.

But he came anyway,

bare soul and swollen heart,

footsteps echoing in marble hush,

where stained glass caught the sunlight

and painted him holy,

even in his doubt.

Grief sat beside him

in the pew,

uninvited but familiar.

The kind that wears his family’s face,

their laughter now dust,

their warmth now scattered

in unsaid things and

rooms left quiet.

He wept,

not for answers,

but for the ache of not knowing

where to place his love anymore.

He had wandered for years,

through crystals and cards,

through moonlit mantras

and silent wishing.

All of it helped,

but none of it held him

the way this stillness did.