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The Adoration of the Faithful
- University of Pittsburgh Press
- Chapter
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42 The adoration of the faithful shines a spotlight on my bed. My body, suspended like a star, floats in the center of this tableau. The processional unfolds itself like a curtain on a ring, encircling me. The faithful kneel at my feet and weep, leaking tears, opulent as pearls. The faithful adore what they think they see. The composition of their cameo faces, swollen soft as soap, tells me they see only ruins. Into my hands they clasp all that remains between us, unfinished, like broken strands of beads. To my bedside they bring roses of regret, smoky ones rolled like elegant cigars. At night I hear the petals open, tea-scented Rosa odorata releasing the chilled breath of earth-damp soil. � The Adoration of the Faithful 43 They bring clouds of confessions, storms they have carried. They tempt me with confections, sweetness I no longer crave, dangling on small silver hooks tidbits of gossip, inedible as éclair. They violate the air around me— talking, weeping, cajoling, beseeching— the flailing of earthly exile. The earth is opening and so, too, the sky. The faithful pummel me with tears, loud as rain on a sorry roof. They cannot see I am full of holes. They adore what they think they see, shadow of the body, the brief and borrowed self. [52.207.218.95] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 14:58 GMT) 44 ...