after St. Catherine de Ricci
I gave this pain your name
and it made me holy.
When my heart failed, my eyes,
my breath, I carved visions of your promises
in my skin.
When I could no longer speak
I spoke with you,
but you never told a soul--
the awful lilies, Lord, the horrible roses.
You knew the weight of their perfume
would be my undoing.
And now they bring me pink angels,
silk shoes, golden chalices of your blood,
and take my silence
for a blessing.
I figured that since today is St. Catherine's feast day, I'd dust off this classic from all the way back in September. Looking at it now, I have absolutely no idea what the title means or why I chose it. I'm open to suggestions.
Index by artist Ariana Page Russell.
