Nuestra Señora de la Llama

 Nuestra Señora de la Llama
Mostly she is light,

Hiding a fire inside herself,

fingering the memory of matches.

She consoles herself with blood.

She consoles herself with salt.

She consoles herself with the pungent scarf

of your damp hair.

 

She ventriloquizes rain

as the myth of pure white

plays itself out

on the black whale’s back.

Matches.

Never dropping her gaze,

Our Lady strikes fire on her bootsole.

 Nancy A. Henry

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s