In Broken Latin: Poems

Three Classes of Relics

ree Classes of Relics I. It’s a form of prayer to cut a woman’s body into pieces— a veiled head sent to rome, a little finger to amiens, bones broken and shared as though they were bread. I stood in line once to see saint Clare’s heart. Her pulmonary veins had crisscrossed into words, and I thought I could make out amore on the left ventricle, which must have pulsed hot pink when she was alive, a valentine from god. II. they probably fought over the corset. Her hairbrush, the board she used to knead dough each morning, even the sheets were given to her family, but the corset rested on her ribs, opened like a door. III. If I could have broken the glass case, I might have touched a pen to her heart then written words red and wet as apples or taken off my black stockings, held them to amore and put them back on, my varicose veins spelling the places where I’ve stood too long. –  – ...