POEM
Descending Theology: The Resurrection
From the far star points of his pinned extremities,
cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—
till the hung flesh was empty.
Lonely in that void even for pain,
he missed his splintered feet,
the human stare buried in his face.
He ached for two hands made of meat
he could reach to the end of.
In the corpse’s core, the stone fist
of his heart began to bang
on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled
back into that battered shape. Now
it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water
shatters at birth, rivering every way.
Source: Poetry (January 2006).
This poem originally appeared in the January 2006 issue of Poetry.
BUY THIS ISSUE »
In her memoir, The Liars' Club, poet and essayist Mary Karr recreated and reflected . . . MORE »
More Poems by Mary Karr
Disappointments of the Apocalypse
MORE »
