Burning Bright

Petition with Reply

Dear Martín de Porres Velázquez, O.P.,
I hope you will forgive my lack of Spanish. 

Something dark is tormenting me. 
Can you teach me how to be a saint?
I could carry the suffering without complaint – 
help the dying, perhaps?  

This is not a welcome ambition in England.  

When I was nine I heard a missionary speak at school. 
Ran all the way home, may even have flown, 
the holy leaflet tight in my hand:
burst through the back door –
my sister at home with Tina and Colette. 

“I’m going to be a nun.” 
They laughed and laughed.  
Could not stop laughing. 

I worry about my stupidity. 
The damage I may have done
when I’ve been close to the dying.

Can you give me a few tips?  
A saintly power or two? 
Can I earn such gifts 
or are they rarely granted?

English daughter,

I have no time to write.
I can give you some information 
but nothing more. 

When my sister was born, my father left us. 
I was sent from home and found a talent 
for cutting hair and listening. 

I was allowed to be a servant 
in the Dominican priory.  
I prayed.  Carried water.  
Walked through doors to heal the sick.

I prefer compassion to cleanliness 
although I am an excellent cleaner. 
Charity is above obedience. 

When I died, God saw fit 
to make my body incorruptible.  

When the casket was opened 
God’s perfume filled the room.

None of it is my doing.

Embrace your pain. 
Give up everything. 
Live your life in prayer. 
Do not eat meat.  
Be in two places at once. 
Negotiate with mice.

Levitate when required. 

Pauline Rowe