La Cruz

This is the last poem I could find. If I want to read something else by my great-grandfather, I’ll have to somehow get it from a library over a thousand miles away.

Evaristo should keep my busy until then…

The Cross
 
José Joaquín Ribera Chevremont
 

 
Over the cracked plaster walls of my apartment
hangs a cross of tarnished silver
and when the evil mundane wind blows
she is my savior
 
It was left to me by my mother
when, on a sad and mysterious night
when her soul full of clemency
left on a peaceful trip to heaven
 
Silvery cross, where our savior died
offering his heart, his suffering,
his blood to wash our sins and
purify our souls
 
You are in my journey of
suffering and sorrow, the faith
that shines like a bright star
to ease the pain and bumps
my life will follow