Basilique Notre-Dame Maastricht
Richard Newman
My son darts into the basilica,
and though I can read three languages
on the long placard, all of them saying
Service in progress. Do not enter! I follow
and find him peeping around a massive stone
column in front by the alter where
six white-draped priests, old as the bones
of martyrs and bishops in crypts beneath them,
mumble their ancient mumbo jumbo
to the half-dozen faithful swallowed by
medieval gloom. Those in attendance now
outnumber the priests because of us.
For my son, they must seem like mages
incanting magic spells to summon ooblek.
“Daddy, what are they doing?” I tell him
I think they’re praying but I’m not sure.
A little sunlight from the blood-red glass
licks the stones, long dark columns rising
to dark clerestory. One priest’s breaths
crackle through speakers when he stands,
lights incense, carries it in the silver thurible.
Most of the other treasures were melted down
to pay war taxes to the French.
The procession shuffles down the ambulatory,
their harmless, moth-eaten souls persevering
as the last white-haired head disappears
through a small door near the alter and into
the vague bowels of the basilica.
“Daddy, where are they going?” he asks. I tell him
I don’t know. I think they’re going home.
About the Author
Richard Newman is the author of four books of poetry, most recently Blues at the End of the World (Kelsay Books, 2024). His work has appeared in American Journal of Poetry, Best American Poetry, Boulevard, I-70 Review (featured poet), Innisfree Poetry Journal, Poetry East, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, and many other magazines and anthologies. He currently teaches Creative Writing and World Literature at Al Akhawayn University in Morocco. Before moving to the Maghreb, he and his family lived in Vietnam, Japan, and the Marshall Islands.