Wednesday, June 11, 2008

The Southern Cross


Four stars transfix my fate
like a miraculous medal.
It is up there for me to see:
a crucifix. Around it,
a scapular of stars.

Like Christ, I too must bear
a cross: a plastic cross
around my neck, across my soul.
Beads of sweat and prayers
dangling like rosaries

And each time I stargaze
light pierces my hands, my feet:
like a stigmatist.
And then I bleed, profusely,
Red and lovely like a rose.

Southern saints are crucified
in this part of the southern sky.

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