Menu

Poetry

It is a fact that no one worries in the Bible.

—Adam Phillips

i.

She worried.
& she knew.

Good enough
makes a faint halo.

Still she was good enough.
She let the infant dream

his unbroken body
at her nipple.

She suckled him &
waited as lightning struck.

Often. His eyes clouded—
ultramarine, gray violet.

His work would come
soon enough, until then….

She watched when he
clambered to the roof

to shoot ravens, then heal them
with a smudged finger touch.

 

ii.

At seventeen Jesus was six foot two
up on the roof, praying under a sky of fire—

He touched that girl who was long paralyzed.
They swam as one.

Time bore them on its back.
Air shuddered.

Down on his father’s plain,
the Jordan burst its banks.

The Philistines got twitchy,
kicked him arse-first onto Rome’s old road.

Try Damascus. Don’t breathe
your Love round us….

 

iii.

Mad old Mary, violet-eyed, stares through them.
Every day….Walks through them….

Until they turn into a greeny livid air.
Love’s naysayers, greedy men,

become less than a festering
wasp worry. Vexatious nothings.

She sits each night alone,
and her son long dead,

combing the dry wings from her hair,
her mouth spilling wild honey.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe now.

Related Poetry

What about God?

By

Richard Chess

very close up image of a flower, white fuzz and purple tips

The Psalm of Then

By

Nicholas Samaras

The Years Were Patient with Me

By

Jeanne Murray Walker

woman holding a baby. You can only see her chin and mouth and the baby in her arms. the baby is looking towards the camera.

Dinka Bible

By

Adrie Kusserow

Pin It on Pinterest