Another Daughter Poem

by Lisa Dordal

Today she makes human figures out of clay—
breathing into their tiny mouths

as if she were God. One she calls Francis
because he gives coins to lepers. One,

Brother C., his name, lost to history.
What’s another word for God? she asks.

Hunger, I say. Silence. The great
unfolding. When you’re dead,

you don’t need to pray anymore,
she says. You just are. She says this

like she’s a prophet, someone whose wisdom
will speak to generations. She’s a girl,

not born but imagined. Imagination, I say—
another word for God. Which is how

Joan of Arc responded to her Inquisitors
when she was accused of using her imagination

to speak about God. How else would God speak
to me, she said. You’ll be surprised,

the daughter I don’t have says, as she hides
her human figures throughout the house:

cupboards, windowsills, bookshelves.
All day, you’ll be surprised.

::

Lisa Dordal is a Writer-in-Residence at Vanderbilt University and is the author of Mosaic of the Dark, a finalist for the 2019 Audre Lorde Award for Lesbian Poetry; Water Lessons, a Lambda Literary most-anticipated-book for 2022; and Next Time You Come Home, a Lambda Literary most-anticipated-book for 2023. Her poetry has appeared in The Sun, Narrative, Image, Christian Century, Best New Poets, CALYX, and Essential Queer Voices of U.S. Poetry.

Image: “Plate with Joan of Arc.” Howell and James, British. In the Public Domain.