Wednesday, April 14, 2010

St. Lidwina (patron of the chronically ill & ice skaters)

face to ice, rib cracked

blood pours from your mouth

as smooth as the silk I dream about.

the hem of your sky-skirt

frozen to the surface, red hands spread

and shaking against the cold.

start with this snow white

bite of apple, then a taste of

date, watered wine--

the salt that rides in with the tide,

turns our river to ocean.

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