PETER RAMOS Blood
Forgetting Mary, the blue delphiniums and statues with painted flesh
I whispered to black screen, beyond which the black cloth in shadows murmured all right, is that all and did I forget
the prayer? All those wooden decades
I fingered, thinking what else did I forget to tell the black screen: bodies in Spring, twitching volts, what I held in my heart or hand? Blackest screen funereal and stern
into whose shadow my light quivering just gathering itself popped and fizzled. Did I remember to choke down the black screen or, kneeling, forget myself ?
* * *
Sangre de santos, del Padre, Hijo, Espíritu Santo. Metallic taste in my mouth for years—father-blood of the cup, the cross and the busted lip, of all my raw-knuckled progenitors.
18
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