A Collection of my poems, stories, and interviews.
December 16, 2008
Madonna and Child
A baby’s skull is soft shaped by its passage through the narrows of the vagina. Picture the cone-headed baby Lord, bald and wailing for his mother’s breast. Where was Jesus better loved than where he was formed, in the womb of his mother?
That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will try always to recognize and submit to them.