By Gabrielle Gimson

Looking at you now, rigid and perfect,
I almost forget how your sacred boy once
pushed against your insides while rehearsing the stations and
thrashed as he dreamt up different ways to die
before leaving his placental manger.

When he was ripe to redeem the fruit, he
thrust out of you, before any man thrust into you.

The apple of your eye
fated to hurt long before the stigmata were visible.

Did your feet swell under the burden?
Looking at you now, I cannot imagine your muscles
contracting against the crown of his head
as he struggled from your womb,
forced out by the weight of burdens not his own.

 
Gabrielle Gimson is a student at St. Edward’s University.

Title image by Katie Okhuysen.