The Ecstasy of St. Cecilia
by Connor Simons
Raphael – 1514 – oil transferred from panel to canvas
I.
at a makeshift altar in a living room
enmeshed in afternoon Alaska light
a tinny plastic speaker
is playing O What a Friend
I Have in Jesus
country twang steel guitar
rumbled snare drum
we attendants sing along –
we her choir sing along
cats curve themselves between plastic catheter tubes
the pastor trips over a pile of paperbacks
someone drops a beer can into an almost-full recycling bin
my mother is wearing a red
wedding dress
her yellow eyes roll upward
her ears are stuffed with the silence
of dying
II.
in a past body i sit with my back
leaning against my mother’s knees
she reclines on the dog-drool stained
brown couch her hair is still
the color of sunset’s end
her lanky fingers in my hair
stopping at old childhood scars
comments on where the knotted
flesh had its origin
slotted in the decade old
CD player a scratched copy
of the Beatle’s greatest hits
either one of us could list the tracks
without missing a song
how many times did she sing through the whole disc?
how many times did she tell me about the first time she heard
Hey Jude? how many times did i hum the guitar part while
she took the melody modulating her notes up a third
straining her throat her chin tilted
up as if her song was for the audience
she never had as if the ragged carpet of the apartment
the glass door smudged with fingerprints the way
material life reflects disappointment could
all melt away when she closed her eyes and sang
how many times did this singer of my life
sing not knowing i was there at her feet
bound by love to listen?
III.
the afternoon resounds with mumble
color is amplified blue can have so many
blues the sky is a series of divisions human-
sky angel-sky paradisic light dribbled down
to the most common of rituals a wedding
everyone brought their best fabric some
are in thought chin in hand some chatting
of whatever it is saints discuss
of what the bride could
be thinking when her eyes lock on
to the rip in the firmament
she sings her song alone human words
are left for human activities human melody
pentatonic scales in flight finger on taut string
lip to metal mouthpiece clank of tambourine
wind pushed through brass or wood or throat
all is strewn abandoned on the ground
her eyes are closing her ears are stuffed
with the hymnal blare of personal hosannas
for the god she accepts as the coming music of death
Hear Connor Simons recite the poem on the Viewless Wings Poetry Podcast:
Five Poets Recite (Nathalie Kuroiwa-Lewis, David Holper, Connor Simons, Norma DaCrema, Linda Drattell) – Viewless Wings Poetry Podcast
Submit your polished poetry for the opportunity of being published on ViewlessWings.com and being interviewed on The Viewless Wings Poetry Podcast.
Connor L Simons is a queer poet, essayist, and translator based in the Twin Cities. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Minnesota, where he worked as Poetry Editor for the Great River Review. His translations have been featured by the Minnesota-Somali Poets Corner and the Havana International Poetry Festival. His work has most recently appeared in the LA Review and Breakwater Review, and is forthcoming in the Brooklyn Review. When not trying to convince his dog to leave the cats alone, he works as a grant writer for a non-profit in St Paul, MN.
You can find him on Twitter at: @ConnorLSimons1
