From the far star points of his pinned extremities,
cold inched in—black ice and blood ink—
till the hung flesh was empty. Lonely in that void
even for pain, he missed his splintered feet,
the human stare buried in his face.
He ached for two hands made of meat
he could reach to the end of.
In the corpse's core, the stone fist of his heart
Began to bang on the stiff chestâs door,
and breath spilled back into that battered shape. Now
it’s your limbs he longs to flow into—
from the sunflower center in your chest
outward--as warm water
shatters at birth, rivering every way.
From Sinners Welcome (HarperCollins, 2006).
Reprinted with permission.
Descending Theology: The Resurrection
More: Poems
The latest from america
A Reflection for the Memorial of St. Athanasius, Bishop and Doctor of the Church, by J.D. Long García
A Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter, by Terrance Klein
In a pre-conclave meeting, an Italian cardinal, and backer of Cardinal Parolin as next pope, attacked Pope Francis for opening positions of responsibility in the church to men and women not in holy orders.
As the film’s title promises, there is plenty of sin on display, even before the vampires arrive.
I enjoyed "Lit" and "The Liar's Club," and I'll have to read more of Ms. Karr's poetry.