one

one

Oh you wounded God,

You come to me

with your yearning

            to be seen as beauty

with your longing

            to be held

just as you come

in your contorted face

in your scarred and twisted body

you can no longer hide

i see you

                                     

your crown of thorns, a basketful of flowers

my glands producing tears and milk, the same

this copious flow of blood,

concurrent dying, birthing

sacred and profane

these drops of pain, compassion

which your hungry mouth now opens to receive

from this, my breaking open heart, a womb

to receive your penetration

oh

i tremble

at the terror of this tender touch

as i open wider to receive

the whole of you

and stretch to deliver you

in this pregnant moment

full of pain and joy

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M.C. Reardon

photographer~painter~poet

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