Since My First Communion At Seven

Since my first communion at seven,

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 sullen images.
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 arbour leaves.
The vines push out plump grapes.
You are loved, someone said. Take that
and eat it.

Reviews

[Lydia Shutter]

Lots of anger throughout this write. Certainly stream of consciousness and very well written. Lydi*

[John Anderson]

What a refreshing piece.. Beautifully penned

[Lyn Anderson]

Wow. This is outstanding. Well written. Rife with double meaning and a seething something underneath.

[Matching Socks]

This is a fantastic write. Really enjoyed it.

[John A. Ayala]

How does it feel to be held by so sublime a chorus of muses? This poem is worth its every shade of virtual ink in gold.

Warm regards,

- John A. Ayala