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.