self portrait as saint dymphna
MJ Lu
mother: when you die, will God see me
as your reflection? as a child, i wanted to believe.
when you led me to my first cross, i was the lamb.
now i wonder if you held me as the knife: time:
if i ever wanted to be the heretic:
how do i save my mind from itself
when it drowned in your worry
slowly twisting its way into your own chest:
spillage: what hymn haven’t we sung
in parting? you said you didn’t trust me
to be alone with father. behind your back,
father said you were a hard person to live with,
but, still: love. i didn’t know how to believe
and now your blood finds its way
into my ruptured veins as i wonder
what use is prayer if not carnal:
every day we are recanting
from our own loneliness.
