Mar 142012

by Kate LaDew


somewhere far off, souls stand as scuttled country churches,

sink into the earth, holes deep with blood,

or shallow with light if it hasn’t been prayed in enough,

hidden between ribs clenched around hearts,

a million spiders feeding,

tearing veins apart,

legs wrapped tight,

a skeleton vice,

pumps in time with the body’s breathing,

sensitive to every thought and feeling,

not easy to find but never empty

hymn books sprawled with broken spines

sounds written on paper

and spiders crawl in figure eights

thread curtains up and down the vestibule

force light to pool in scattered streams,

little lifeless jewels permanent as dreams,

spiders praying, and you.

can anything hear you?

scars around your heart tell stories,

letters hand delivered,

but we don’t bask in His glory

we shiver