Disgraceland, Mary Karr

[moireach.livejournal.com]

Disgraceland
Mary Karr

Before my first communion at 40, I clung
    to doubt as Satan spider-like stalked
        the orb of dark surrounding Eden
            for a wormhole into paradise.

God had first formed me in the womb
    small as a bite of burger.
        Once my lungs were done
            He sailed a soul like a lit arrow

to inflame me. Maybe that piercing
    made me howl at birth,
        or the masked creatures
            whose scalpel cut a lightning bolt to free me—

I was hoisted by the heels and swatted, fed
     and hauled through rooms. Time-lapse photos show
        my fingers grew past crayon outlines,
            my feet came to fill spike heels.

Eventually, I lurched out to kiss the wrong mouths,
    get stewed, and sulk around. Christ always stood
        to one side with a glass of water.
            I swatted the sap away.

When my thirst got great enough
    to ask, a stream welled up inside;
        some jade wave buoyed me forward;
            and I found myself upright

in the instant, with a garden
    inside my own ribs aflourish. There, the arbor leafs.
        The vines push out plump grapes.
            You are loved, someone said. Take that

and eat it.

Comments

[moireach.livejournal.com]

I know, right? The double meaning.