Thursday, September 16, 2010

St. Cornelius (patron against earaches, epilepsy, cramps, and fevers)

my fever burnt a hole

straight through my

grandmother’s quilt.

the cottage was thick

with lavender smoke

like this was magic,

as if everything wasn’t

too painful to think about.

the river flowed on.

the trees continued

their slow shift

into rust.

I submerged my body

in a bathtub full of honey

if only to coat this

burning throat,

to make everything move

just a bit slower.

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