Painting by Alessandro Sicioldr
It began as a dream.
A dandelion sea
For us to float wishes on.

A magic mountain to climb
sugar-topped peaks
cotton candy clouds

I was a child again.
Trust was a given.

There you stood tall
Pewter shield
And honed sword.

A Titan.

30 pieces of silver
weighting down
your pockets.

I never asked
how or why.

I didn’t need to know

We crossed that red field.
Bloody acre after bloody acre
Fighting back to back.
Seeking resurrection.
Exhuming faith’s dead.

Tripping over tombstones,
Fucking between cracks
of our mothers’ backs
Tumbling over
the crumbling pilasters
of martyred saints’ crypts.

Creating the world anew

You exhaled the sky
I inhaled your moon

My flesh fed the red clay
You molded into bitter earth.
when your doubts bounced
city to city
house to house
room to room

splattering my want
over borders and walls
flowering into
my every open wound.

My cracked head swelled
a Madonna belly, our child
conceived in carnage
within a womb
rooted in ghosts
and Chinese whispers;
Doubt’s white-ashed remnants
were the papal smoke that yoked us

(Why is doubt always so fucking proud of itself?)

Love shot through my skull, fully formed
ejected from those recessive lobes
I had long since abandoned to you.

She had your shine.

I thought I saw your brilliance in her eyes
I would have slit her throat but, like you
She perched too high above me to reach,
She died before she even sighed her first breath.
I try to wear her stillborn weight without pain;
I try to maintain dignity – I keep her with me
always as a lesson, donning misery and mitre,
forever cloaked in death’s indifferent gaze.









4 Comments Add yours

  1. mr johannes says:

    There may indeed be lapses where I fail to annoy you with all my ridiculousness; but make no mistake about it – you are still my most favorite cyber poetess. Getting off a ride of your poetical creations leaves on quite feeling like…well, perhaps Alex Drake says it best.

    While I am truly the high-priest of fools, yet even the leading patriarch of that church of nonsensical nonsense cannot blind his foolishness from your talent.

    1. ccthinks says:

      You are never ridiculous, nor foolish. You are kind, expressive, and supportive. But you know this. I appreciate every visit from you. It’s a grand video, I’ve not seen the series! This poem is ekphrastic. I saw that painting and this lunacy is what occurred to me when I did. Her eyes are so sad. xox

  2. Each time I read it, I am overwhelmed. Such originality.

    1. ccthinks says:

      Querida! You are too good to me. xoxo

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