Sunday, May 3, 2009

Skinning a Cat

I sit in church in my pew in the balcony, and watch as the sunlight bounces like a ball off the passing cars at 299 792 458 meters per second, shoots through the winter trees, through the church window and shines their leafless silhouette across the wall like a black and white filmstrip of naked branches, arms raised, flick, flick, flick, a refrain. A liturgy of trees.

The Glory,
and I am undone.
Breaking. Peeled back.
Lips parted, throat tight, eyes full, mouth empty.

God appears, is merciful, covers his face and only pastes pictures on the wall, and still I do not know if I will survive the show - me and my threadbare skin sack of bones and organs and blood.

I fear violence, disease, my face through a windshield at eighty an hour, a knife in some dark helplessness,
while my body, just stitched to my soul, so loosely looped, fumbles most at the threads
on any given morning in sunlight.


Kimberly said...

Loving this, lady!

Cherie said... GOOD!

Janna said...

methinks me must work a bit harder at me poems, so they may have proper mystery. like yore'ns.

deanna said...

Another real and good one; I've been digesting it. Your picture on the Relief site is cute. :o)

Angela said...

thanks, girls.

ha! deanna, i keep forgetting about that piece. all i know is that i can't afford more than my free copy of it!
i'll put up a link later.

Ava said...

"I fear violence, disease, my face through a windshield at eighty an hour, a knife in some dark helplessness"

I think we all do, at least I know I do. A surprising (perhaps troubling) amount of my daydreams end in disaster. I want to keep that sentence written down somewhere. Very nicely put.

Also, thank you for the kind comment a few days back. :-)

deanna said...

I know. One free copy is something, but where are the ones for my mom and cousins and aunts and uncles? I may have birthday money left to buy your issue, though.