Poetry Anne Doran — July 7, 2011 12:55 — 0 Comments
IN THE CONVENT: A VERSION OF GOD – Anne Doran
No flagellation was permitted
before committing the psalm
to memory––
have mercy on me, O Lord––
and when a novice could recite it
without error––
my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness––
she could rise at night with the rest––
cast me not away from thy presence––
proceed to a dark room––
behold I was shapen in iniquity––
where the skirts were hitched––
in sin did my mother conceive me––
and the pocket whips bought out––
make me to know wisdom––
the intoning begun––
that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.
How timid the slap?
How biting the sting?
One way lay pain,
the other, recrimination.
In the dark, her thighs were wholly her own.
What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney