Poem to Share: Our Lady of Stones

Our Lady of Stones

There are too many
lepers, too many sicknesses
for any one age
to hope
to cure.
What water will wash the blistering stink
of childmurder, childfear
childrape, womanhate, poverty
off our collective soul?
We are sick with slow rotting.
Our fingers poison the stellar hands
of saints reached out in sympathy
or supplication.

The only hands we have to reach back with
are insatiable, disfigured
by more than a touch could cure.

G.L. Morrison, 2007


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