Monday, August 27, 2007

This is just a draft -- I've got kind of a fever and my head is swimming -- this might make sense if you felt the same way.

Visitation

she can tell when it’s coming
a damp aura surrounds her
in the tomato garden
or on the front lawn
as she sits and picks at her toenails
silently cursing the postman for
being so late, always so late

the bees gather in her hair
just behind her ears
they murmer louder, louder
a great warm motor of buzz

she stopped being afraid of them
after she got married
she’d call her husband,
Frank, get them, get them
and he’d lift a broom
and sweep the air around her head

during the divorce he confessed
he saw nothing
and grew tired of all the animals
that came to her dreams and woke him up

the sparrows perch about her hips
like a soft sighing belt
all coos and settling, resettling, wings

after the birds begin to peck at the bees it happens,
deep in the boat of the sky, the sun opens up
a cloud like a burning book:
the Virgin reaches down to hold her hand
and weep
________________

Is the end too corny?

3 comments:

Ernesto said...

Not at all! I loved it.

Talia said...

I love your writing!

Christine said...

Thanks, Ernesto and Talia. I'm glad it worked.