Sunken Virgin¹

They lisp, they scream, they often stutter

I listen to the prayers they utter:

angry and frightened, cries come in tomes,

harsh and violent and hopeless poems.

A woman, I’ve always put them first,

denying my needs, my wants, my thirst;

Their claims pile up and pile until

I cannot walk; they importune still

I sink under the weight of their sin and hopes;

and pray for intercession from all of these dopes.

 

 

 1.   Ekphrastic on a photograph of a lawn Madonna.
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