Poetry Contest Submission 8

Heels Against the Earth

It was a business foot massage, Peter will tell the women later,
fingers curling as if in memory of the Lord’s thumbs, kneading

the flesh of his arch like bread, which, if you recall, he’d always
been rather good with. I told him ‘no,’ I told him ‘wash my hands
instead,’ but the Lord does what he wants. Well, he did…
The women are silent and expecting. They will take crumbs,

they will lathe his feet with their tongues if he asks them, but
will not do as he did, sweep the rise of him, press the doughy
mounds beneath his toes, search out the place that pushes women
into labor. Peter will say, I divined him being born in me. He was

mine, and I carried him with a terrible lightness of being. A carpenter
has strong hands. I felt like dancing as I had not done for years.

The women want to dance, to crash their heels against the earth,
and sing, too, a meteoric grief dwindling into dust. But Peter

sways like a reed, feels cool water clouding up through his hollow
of a body: once a vessel, no longer an alembic. Somehow love

smothers in when there is nothing left to carry.

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About loyolapoets

The Greyhound Collective Poetry Revival would like to consider “mission statement” in its simplest terms. Rather than reiterate the boundaries of our task, we simply express our aim: to become a mission – a party of individuals sent out into the world with a message meant to unveil a uniting principle of truth. We define this message as “poetry.” We promote poetry as a viable and vivid art form, alive and accessible. Freed from its ivory tower, our poetry will breathe life into an ailing form while fostering an artful relationship with the greater community. We assert ourselves under the following mantra: “your mouth is a sign of how sacred your life actually is.” As a collective, we write to be sanctified. View all posts by loyolapoets

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