aayoung
.
Twin brothers
born of the 3rd century
in Cilcia, Turkey
.
The patron saints of
physicians and surgeons
and those suffering
with blood disease
.
kindly hear
my anemic prayer
.
Saints who gave up their lives
so that others
may have comfort and mercy
.
Saint Kosmas
and
Saint Damianos
speak in gently whispered prayer
to God for me
.
O Gladsome Light of the Heavens
I implore the holy spirit
to take away my ailments
and be of service to others
that they see
of thy
Glory
.
.
i don’t know
what heaven looks like
but it can’t be far off
from this
is what lies
within a good heart
the last time
a human
closes their eyes
i wasn’t going to write a maya angelou poem
because i feel unworthy to eulogize
as
men fall mute
take vows of silence
over things less sacred than she
until the remembrance
of a late fall morning
returned to me
7th grade
first bell walls
covered with golden shadows
and whispering leaves
in eight o’clock hour sunlight
my english teacher played
a recording of her
reading
i know why the caged bird sings
when it was done
the class snickered at my weeping
breaking the quiet
they didn’t know they made a poet of me
in that 12 year old moment
i realized
what a woman
what a human being
could rise and overcome
to be
graceful ascendancy
if there is a loving god
it chose to speak
with the voice
of maya angelou
i’ve been loved
i’ve been loved
i’ve been loved
those expectant of heaven
are waiting for death
to deliver the fairness
life never will
let me know how that works out for you
lately
i’ve been sleeping face down
to hold my soul inside
in the event
i should die
during the night
i never want to wake
to the eternal responsibility
of having to keep
a bathroom sink clean
in a perfect heaven
it was the moment
i felt the weight of you
that come hither look in your eyes
a crashing instant
when i contemplated
what we would be
we would make antony and cleopatra seem uncommitted
a passion so profound
it would negate my need for panties
i made the decision
not to want you
or the responsibility of your happiness
chose never to be the person
who complains you’re never around
and when you’re home don’t lift a finger
i never want to be your freshest regret
what a perfect disaster we would be
our neighbors would hate us
we would go to home depot
and choose to paint the bathroom an almost puce shade of armageddon
we would watch fatal attraction together and immediately run to ikea
for more lamps and cutlery
scratching vinyl to a screeching stop
speakers and clothing flying
through rattling windows
we’d brawl over a bourbon bottle
some june night
and threaten to cut each other
with the jagged pieces
of a kenny rogers and the first edition album
perpetually polar
fucking or fighting
either way it would be noisy
we would drive the sidewalk to drink
all the pearls in the world
would fall from their strands
we would tire of crying
you would invalidate my every previous love poem
our car would eternally be waiting to plunge
from an icy bridge
in the deep south
midwinter
because i threatened to jump out and through the door open to puke
and you swerved trying to grab for my
drunk ass
because we’d love each other more than we had collective sense
there must be a heaven for that
eating english
muffins
slathered with blackberry preserves
ignoring The Times
listening to
the cure
disintegrate
on the turntable
orbiting white chocolate
worshiping blonde coffee
reading a deLillo novel
dog under chair giving chase
in mumbley sleep
children remain under star covered blankets
as st. michael the tabby cat
wages holy war
against the evils
of rabbit fur mice
the skyline of the early evening city
rising behind
soaring diocese minarets
and crucifix adorned steeples
a cathedral flanked by
brick and mortar chess pieces
surrounded by cloudy machinations
god is content this night
to reign only in heaven
for the king is not yet dead
and bishops must be guarded
by mortal men
we glide across marble tiles
fingers laced together
to find our way into the sanctuary
you anoint my head and yourself
after threshold is crossed
asking me to look to the choir loft
the pipe organ sings out not to heaven
instead pleading sympathy for the devil in hell
our laughter causes the sainted statues to turn their heads
swords collide in the painted ceiling
their embers fall
burning our skin
you pull me into
the red velvet confessional
by my waist
i wish to be captured
plunging your hands into my hair
lips pressed to mine in worship
pleading to a heart full of grace
you say,
“my queen, you make me feel so alive…”
i am undone
as beads fall slowly
to the floor