There Comes Eventual

 

when her symptoms amplify
into conscious notice
of her heart’s arrhythmia,
there comes eventual
of chaired room waiting
with others symptomatic
in silent bells of worry

a public name call
to near naked isolation
in spare antiseptic space
where skinned anatomy
is postered on a wall

the white coat enters
heal me, Doctor for I am unwell
his cold hands listen at her heart
and when incision later follows
she wears its scarlet path

and when she is remorseful
comes eventual of need
for stained glass windows
and frankincense and myrrh
and a crucifix upon a wall

she slips through curtains
bless me Father, for I have sinned
and when confession follows
and she is washed in absolution
as from a basin brimmed
with Christ’s redeeming blood
she bears its consequence

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artist: Unknown

 

Money Mecca in the Desert

Money mecca first is glow behind dark hills
then flames to razzle-dazzle boulevards of sidewalked
believers seeing visions…offering flashing idols
metal paper plastic…handing chips and cards to proxies
in temples where prayers of the faithful…please god please
rise to heaven through tobacco incense haze toward
all seeing watchers over them.

Where devotion…caffeine stoked…blurs lines
of day and night as acolytes peak intensity
with alcohol and speed, and where testosterone
sifts in city air to blend with auto fumes.
Where dulled disciples receive comfort
at the altars of buffet, and toss trample
paper icons of nude gods and goddesses
offered from street stationed church of
Eros zealots.

Where each Monday, delegated deacons
follow morning rites, bag chips left in
collection plates at Sunday’s mecca churches,
appear at the temples’ gates for a ritual
of redemption.

Bonnie Marshall

 

Artwork by Leroy Neiman

For Their Deserving Notions

she told me…
she…being my Mother…one day at Church…
never to place a book upon a Holy Bible
and her caveat stays me…to this day,
though not like The Ten Commandments
that I should not break…for the No Book
on Top caution was Her bent, not mine

he told me…
he…being a law student Prince from Africa
that his Father…the Kisi tribal King…told him
his oath on a bible in a British court was illegal
for it’s someone else’s foreign sacred thought
yet…a Human Blood Oath…now That to him
was Holy…not indifferent like a beer oath, or
one sworn with chicken blood, depending
as they did, upon individual intent

on occasion when I shelve my Books
aged faintly aromatic vanilla almond hay,
the ones I cherish near me place to place…
their sweet fragrance on occasion keys my
Saturday remembrance of Mother…me…on
Communion Service duty in a damp Church
basement breaking shortbread wafers onto
silver plated trays…and pouring  grape juice
into tiny plastic cups

I drank the Blood…I ate the Body

my Mother banished me

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Welsh Dragon