The Mystic, Again Sick
I believe you believe, is that enough? We read the cards together. Prop her head with pillows, bring her some water. Crown this last hour with seeds of supplication. I promise to forgive you, if you remember I was here. St. Teresa of tiny plumes and thorns, dig into the heart that beats more faintly each time you press your small ear to hear it calling. Make me like you (the heart or the body—or better, both) or as I am, let me be. My own knowledge of it, the voice that tells me not to listen unless the words are in her blood, unless my oath is fire. In October, we celebrate our graves and water our dead.
Colleen Coyne is the author of two poetry chapbooks: This Document Should Be Retained as Evidence of Your Journey (Jacar Press) and Girls Mistaken for Ghosts (dancing girl press). Her work has appeared in DIAGRAM, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Sou’wester, and elsewhere. She lives in Massachusetts, where she is an associate professor of English at Framingham State University, and she travels frequently to explore historic cemeteries, national parks, and other sites of memory.
