Your photo portrays arms gently crossed, hands
bearing wounds like large bullet holes above
the wrists. Shy, you covered them with dark bands
when you said Mass. Shocked, the Holy See shoved
you from the confessional, denied your
demonic fistfights, your bilocating
to help souls at risk, the rose-rich odor
often flowing from you. The church’s sting
eased as Pope Pius privately confessed
he’d been “badly informed.” Still, you lived long
and died in Italy’s ankle; professed
how we should “Pray, hope and don’t worry!” Throngs
flocked to your funeral. Many still pray
to St. Pio of Pietrelcina.
Roger Armbrust
June 27, 2007
