Girl grasped light in her wounded palms
and blackened eyes.

Sun rained like coins on an open cross
through the stained saint in the window.

She’s learning to lean on the sun’s secret colors,
to wash her feet in the invisible places
that no one can pierce.

Somewhere, years from now,
in another life,
she’ll gird herself with better blessings.

You are reading a post from Matter Notes, Karen Michalson’s blog on creativity as spirituality and the war on the humanities. Her most recent novel, The Maenad’s God, is available on Amazon.

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