093c3ac60161fdab3e0a048f7e5ccf6cThe day they pricked paint into her back
permanent and violet
she grew a lotus mandala
lending a little stigmata wisdom
to the thin bones of her grow
for she didn’t know that year
whether to follow sharp train tracks and disappear
into the woods not to be discovered
or walk into winter blizzard
feeling her way through to
imposing red bricked hospital
sagging against its frame like
an auburn flame caught in globe
shaken from foothold
placing her wet gloves on chaffing radiator
tell the patient man behind his mahogany desk
littered with prescriptives for disease of the mind
I am not well I am not well I am not well
you must take me from my freedom and tie me up
in a satin bow atop a new gift of hope
somewhere I cannot think or pass
in my mouth the marble and coinage
of my jailer
 
if she had let herself fall then
with his regard whiskering her lament
and plummet like a fire consumed comet
for the first time without control just
the ember of her flaming skirt searing
a series of interrupted tap dances
spanning shortenedΒ  life
in the direction of diminishing
sticky mouthfuls of sweet jam taken in dark
tap tap tap tap
braille, wittled cane, white and wooden
hers was the fear of generations
her grandmother, her grandfather
laid to rest in sweet meadow of
Mont-Ventoux, beyond lavender fields
where their metallurgic table of elements
could rest from unquenched desire to end
take your medicine
euthanize the unrest
let the sleep of the dead
usher silence in prayer robe
when he died
holding his dry paintbrush
when she died
clutching her wet scripture
when their loss mixed in formula
writing her DNA prophecy
she learned to lace up her unease
absenting breath needing not to breathe
not today doctor
not ever
these houses for the poor of heart
medicated,Β inviscerated, shuffle in
do not come out
 
she left her gloves on the radiator
followed her tracks back through virgin snow
easier when you cannot really see where you go
somehow standing amidst the roar
sea on dry land, oceans in desert flowers
it might take defying your legacy to survive
it might take not wishing to be the next pin to escape
bowled over by shared cross-stitched disease
even the empty
even the weak
 
she got a tattoo of a lotus
on the small of her back
where men had whispered hot and slow
you are slender like a branch
I want to bend you in two as green willow
will not snap
supple in bow, play me never
this girl has forged her symphony war
out of rising in morning, ready to give up
she survived percolating tendency
and the ones who thought her lean
pressing her against shiny coffee tables
unbuckling their murmuring distaste
for respect
thinking her a orfice, a receptacle, alabaster secret
and not a girl capable of swallowing fire
 
they did not believe in signs and wonders
nor warriors who wear no armor
she stands in her diluted ink
she is the beginning, the circular, the ending
of ways we are forced to be
a stain lies on her skin
it feels like an angels imprint
lending courage for the quiet
of soul, who gathers the leftovers
surviving beyond her welt
she is merciful to the meek
as a storm gathering in force, swells against
shore, building momentum
turning the raw belly of sky
monochrome

0 Replies to “Stigmata”

  1. “they did not believe in signs and wonders
    nor warriors who wear no armor
    she stands in her diluted ink
    she is the beginning, the circular, the ending
    of ways we are forced to be”
    THIS is so beautiful and speaks to me love it thank you:)

      1. I’ve been reading your posts for quite some time now, but just a little too shy to comment.
        Your creativity in writing beautiful words really inspires me. Please don’t ever stop writing, and do consider me your forever fan. Have a lovely day! πŸ’•

        1. Wow what lovely words! Thank you so much Janah. I know about shyness, I am shy too so we’d probably get on very well! I love how we can lift each other up and support each other, please know that’s how I feel also. Thank you dear friend. xo

  2. This Passage:
    ‘you must take me from my freedom and tie me up
    in a satin bow atop a new gift of hope
    somewhere I cannot think or pass
    in my mouth the marble and coinage
    of my jailer’
    …The only poet that gets me every time.

    1. *massive scarlet blush* you leave me spellbound with your regard kind Sir. Truthfully it’s like knowing a favorite author personally and them telling you that they love your work, yeah it feels that good because that’s exactly what it is.

        1. I just got caught in the doorway, my swollen head unable to fit through πŸ˜‰ Seriously, when we first ‘met’ I was intimidated by you, which is odd as I’m rarely intimidated, I take that as a good sign in a strange way, then I realized we were of the same weft and over night it was as if we knew each other the allocation of our years – you treading the moors whilst I brought up the desert rear, chasing your fox tail. Long I hope to know you, in this world and the one that you are creating with every step.

          1. I’m about as intimidating as a seagull. Unless it’s a hungry seagull.
            PS finished the third book today. I’m cream-crackered!
            Now I’m counting the days until your new tome arrives. Very exciting. πŸ˜„πŸ‘

  3. One of your best (though they’re all amazing you know that) but, this is freaking powerful. I felt this deep inside me and the emotions are going to stay with me all evening

  4. The simultaneous raw power and vulnerability of your subjects blows me away. You have such a distinctive voice Candice. I become lost in your imagery and don’t want to be found for a while. Wonderful. I loved it.

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