A wet tongue wets dry lips.
Dry hands race the others' cuticles.
Small God-given lines circle around the knuckles - one two three four five - tightly until they become white. Whites of eyes turn towards your dry hands and newly wet lips -
analyzing and underestimating and wondering.
One pair of eyes - one two - clench together in disgust and repulsion, followed by
several damp tongues pointed your way.
Your dry white skin - one - turns red red red turns hot hot hot.
Socks stick to your feet and knees stick to
each other, as if there isn't a way to face this alone.
Alone - one. Your heart - one - pounds so loudly that
your ears - one two - can't comprehend what the
new white eyes and dry lips are saying.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Everything Beneath by Edye P
“we have yet to break the surface”
I whispered
after hours of scratching the stars away
from the sky with my fingertips
to cusp them inside of my hands
and feel their light.
I had every intention of stripping
the darkness from the night –
of pulling the constellations away
from their imprints within the atmosphere
to reveal Him
because years ago,
Father had told me that
“God is in everything”
and from then on,
I chose to move my body gently and eat slowly,
to swallow Eucharist
in the smallest of pieces
and nibble timidly around
the cores of peaches in the case that
He was within its pit, and
whenever I close my lips –
I can feel Him extend His legs,
pinned in all directions beneath my tongue,
shaping my words from biblical psalm,
pulling sin in strands of prayer
from the lining of my throat …
I can always feel him,
not heavy of a burden
but wise,
spread evenly about my skin,
in everything I see and touch …
holding Him, the stars, my pulse,
parts of Him,
inside my hand
realizing that no battle had ever
been fought and won alone.
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I rediscovered this poem the other day that I found in 2010. It is absolutely beautiful and I read it in awe nearly every time.
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