The woman has flat eyes
and will not speak, but

when I look at her
I know I am gazing

into the face of God.
War brought her

to this place,
to my care.

We talk each day,
but really I ask

and her eyes focus
instead on any movement

outside my window.
Today, the clouds tumble

across the sky, full
of rain, ready to break.

St. Christina
you earned the name,

the Astonishing,
while still living

as you glimpsed visions of
Hell, Heaven and Purgatory.

You startled your church
when you woke

in your coffin
at the funeral.

This woman has seen
visions of Hell,

or perhaps real hells.
Please help me,

please guide her,
to find her way back

from her own silent purgatory.
The rain has finally come,

falling fast, striking
the panes to attention.

Christina, let this soldier sit up,
rise and be complete, at peace,

a surprise to herself
and all who love her.

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