Magdalene’s Stigmata by Tawni Waters

He has marked me again,
branded my forehead with his
sooty cross.
My third eye yawns wide,
swallowing heaven whole.
Winged ones sing me.
Angels tiptoe over my spine, a
brittle bridge between
mundanity and eternity.
My skin leaks light.
My palms bleed God.
His sacred dreams flicker just
behind the gauze of my eyelids,
punching through the walled
wells of my retinas, desperate to
be born.
The way that red trickles over
my head
coating my eyes
hurts.
I rock the trembling child that
hides behind my love tattered
mind, singing songs I knew
before I forgot Mortality.
Vaguely, I recall a time when I
could not walk through walls.
I do not miss the confinementand yet
there was a certain safety in my
prison.

About Tawni Waters

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