All Souls Day

Entry by: Martin Willitts Jr

6th November 2015
Liturgy of the Hours


All who died, this is the hour,
we remember you, like wind recalls rain.
We light candles to see your faces again,
so we never forget like cat knows
where a mouse hides. We have rituals
from the moment we set a clock
to the end of day when we lower curtains
and stars fall into our pillows.


We have been sanctifying this day
like a choir repeating the minutes
as if time was rain upon our faces.
Even the mouse knows the habits
of the cat, waits for it to curl in sunlight,
before moving about, quiet as curtains.
Even the stars are votive candles
sizzling in rain, know the prayers of clouds.
Even pillows hide rituals of dreams.
We speak the names of the dead.


During Matins, Chopin began his nocturnes,
the dreamy ethereal names, ritualistic
and slowed movement like the dead
shuffling on our faces when we call upon them.
We stalk the edges of the room like a cat
tracing the footsteps of a mouse. Our words
as we name our dead parents or friends
disappear quickly as candles snuffed out.
Rain curls in moonlight singing litanies,
now, at the moment of striking hours,
the dead feeling remembered, their names
curtain as nighttime when a mouse knows silence.