Sister Christian, Melissa


Affinity between poet writes,

we otherwise would never

have met never having

breathed the same air, although

we did exhale in unison on

occasion. Our sighs filled voids.


So, you die young, too many

words yet untyped, unshared.

Old, I wish youth survived

and the Lord we mutually worship

had taken me instead. I would trade

lifetime to give you more time

to preach to the proven faithful 

and the seemingly irretrievable.


I lost a Bible verse and you

knew where to find it, by rote.

I thanked you then and thank

you posthumously for the awe

that is you.


Mostly, I remember faith,

a willingness to share love

with anyone with eyes to hear

acute and humble wisdom;

a gift as righteous vision.


Heaven, unlike anything a woman

imagines, enforms you in a way

no one can create. Joy and despair 

are human acts. Tears and laughter

are unknown in the where that

owns rights to your songs.


Sin is no more, praying left here,

beside your existence. Regret, like

joy or death, smiles or sorrow,

is gone. We remember continuances

and endings, mirth and anguish. You

taught us that everything eventually

turns to ash.


More intimate than love songs

or versed dirge lines taken from

your senses; you as free flowing,

a ril slicing the living gently, warmly,

into one part spirituality's well trod

landscape and one part clay born of wet

dust. Such a small entity, a miracle.


We see your voice as if a neon sign

were graffitied on an alley wall, spray

painted on the surfaces of our astute

abilitities to hear you excellently

well. You are a voice now in the choir.

A miracle indeed.







Author's Notes/Comments: 

In Christ , Melissa Jane Flesher Dass. Wake up Heaven. A noble warrior is come.

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