by Ruth Goring
Our bodies / are the leaves of God.
Broken, and again broken,
sick and scraped, my Tree.
Árbol de vida, what life
is this, Dios mío
y no tan mío.
My Dove with ragged
wings, my torn Umbrella
(if this is the way you treat
your friends, no wonder
you have so few)
—en tu mundo ando
coja y cómplice.
Teresa before me
on this path, limping.
Start over: just
when I had gotten used
to dryness, you pour
ecstasy, raise me, mend.
My Stranger, mi Madre,
your hands I can almost.
El castillo interior
pajoso, Dios mío y no
tan mío.
Love once said to me, I know a song.
Abide with me, fast falls
my Darkness, bearing
soot and gasps y tanta lluvia
all my almost
till Christ nubs in the tomb
of me (has no body now on earth
but ours).
Autor’s note: All italicized text is from St. Teresa.
RUTH GORING’S poetry collections are Soap Is Political and Yellow Doors; her poems have appeared in Rhino, Calyx, Iron Horse Literary Review, and many other venues. She also writes and illustrates children’s picture books (Adriana’s Angels / Los ángeles de Adriana; Picturing God). Her homes are Chicago and Colombia. Find her at ruthgoringbooks.com.
Photo: “Santa Teresa de Jesus (Avila)” by Jose Luis Cernadas Iglesias
Psaltery & Lyre 