Guadalupe Street
She exists as the entirety of Holy Faith,
but she lives right around the corner.
To my mind, there is no more precise way
to experience the wasteland than through her.
In her presence, my thoughts are the desert,
my eyes — the mountain sky; she is the earth.
I am the wickedness in humanity’s ways.
No more metaphors… not this time. I
can’t take my mind anymore. All
I want to do is to say something
concrete: I remember when we first met,
when her eyes first lit upon my scars;
they sparkled in ways that I’ve seen
so many times since. I’ll work magic again…
My scars are the remnants of our hell,
when the inmates were released, when
they chopped the two of us in two
and burnt her alive upon the sacrificial pyre.
Virgin Mary Magdalene return to me.
Our myth goes deeper than Eve. We’re
never chosen. We’re their Adversary.
By Michael Anthony Adams, Jr.
From his poetry collection Indigo Glow.
Published
Originally published at http://pandebare.wordpress.com on November 27, 2022.
