Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Saint Beauty: a poem

Saint Beauty

In the direct way of the foolish,
St. Francis walked up to a wolf
and said Brother.

It was a generic naming
with Gubbio’s villagers murmuring
mashed potatoes
mashed potatoes
like actors creating scrim in
a Perry Mason juror’s box.

This was not the wolf who dressed
in Granny’s flannel gown and tied on
a nightcap, no, this was Brother Wolf
touching paw to palm:
I’ll be good.

What’s to learn from this story?
Feed all creatures until
claimed by God from Lost & Found?

Goodness is a gamble.
Perry proved beauty is no defense.
The mystery of being is
trumped by the mystery of not-being.

Not-flesh embodied needs flesh,
even that grandmother’s,
toasty in her long flannel gown.
by Sarah Sarai. @@@ From the journal, Lyre Lyre. #5, 2013. (The site is no longer live.)

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