She knows that being chosen means to choose herself
and seals upon her breasts the Sacred Heart—
a thorn-bound garnet against open lilies,
a pink-and-white ink triptych on her chest.
Every shadow, a creed professed by lines
from votive needles to her deepest cells.
Her body gives life to art, reflects the fade
of dying flesh, and honors God's design.
No second thoughts, she thinks that pain
is easily a choice we make ourselves,
as is admiring her canvas skin
as it ages. Affirmed with words spelled
on a defiant ribbon across her chest,
her blazón: Even the blackest sheep are blessed.
[Thanks, Joan]
and seals upon her breasts the Sacred Heart—
a thorn-bound garnet against open lilies,
a pink-and-white ink triptych on her chest.
Every shadow, a creed professed by lines
from votive needles to her deepest cells.
Her body gives life to art, reflects the fade
of dying flesh, and honors God's design.
No second thoughts, she thinks that pain
is easily a choice we make ourselves,
as is admiring her canvas skin
as it ages. Affirmed with words spelled
on a defiant ribbon across her chest,
her blazón: Even the blackest sheep are blessed.
Martha Serpas, Cȏte Blanche
(West Michigan University Press, 2002)
(West Michigan University Press, 2002)
[Thanks, Joan]
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