Last night I knelt at her feet.
Straw poked and scratched my knees.
I couldn’t see.
With palms pressed together at my lips,
I blew in three hot breaths
then placed my hands on the top of her feet ---
just as she had taught me.
Are you warm enough?
Was all I asked. I wanted to ask,
How many miles did you walk?
Did your soles crack and split in winter?
Did you ever wish, just once, for someone else
to bathe your feet?
I shifted, inching quietly on my knees.
I couldn’t see,
but I knew the distance of her leg
and rested when I reached her hip.
The twin bones, palpable in the dark,
ridged through her robe like rocky cliffs
above cypress trees and the sea.
I placed my hands,
palms flat in the cave of her belly,
fingertips toward the moon ---
just as she had taught me.
Are you hungry?
Was all I asked. I wanted to ask
Are you sorry about the babies you never had?
How red was your blood when you bled?
Was it clear, like almost ripe tomatoes
or black scarlet?
I slid one hand to rest on her sparrow ribs.
The other hand
under
between straw and robe
to hold the sacred bone ---
just as she had taught me.
Are you comfortable?
I asked as my hip tingled with sleep,
and straw poked and scratched my wrist.
Did you really sing for Christ
or did you sing for the sensation of your lungs
open,
your mouth open
so wide.
Your throat wide.
Wide enough to reach the darkness inside.
Wide enough for a scream?
Are you thirsty?
Did you ever want to scream?
Stand in the center of the silent sisters
and scream.
What are we doing?
We could be feasting in our fathers’ houses
or dancing in olive groves.
What are we doing?
Barren bellies to the ground,
forehead against cold stone,
when we could be touching
not just in sickness,
touching in health,
touching
in love.
Don’t you miss touching in love?
Dawn. The crucifix on the wall
swollen in the early shadows,
larger than it really was.
I shifted to sit at her head
and put her hair in my hands ---
just as she had taught me.
Fingertips on the memory place,
I asked
Do you miss life before Francis?
Chiara?
Was all I asked.
Chiara, can you hear me?
Her lips opened
slight.
One light puff.
Yes,
she whispered.
Yes.
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