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Saturday, 27 September 2014

Mater Misericordiae

How to let go?

how to breathe again?

how to unlock the tiny door

to the Tabernacle of my lungs?


How to let the tiny bird of my breath

out through the open door

of its wicker cage?

how to let the flapping birds of my breaths

explode from my belly

like Tarkovsky’s swallows

from Our Lady’s heavy skirts?


Oh, let it go, let it go!

The cage isn’t made from wicker but from pride;

the door isn’t locked with metal

but with anger.


Let them fly, let them fly!

The little birds butt against the walls

of conceit and hubris

woven together into an armour

that binds the spirit tighter

than a torturer’s iron corset.


Let them fly, let them fly!

Oh, let them fly!

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