The Gathering

December 8, 2011
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I chose to become a woman of the Gathering.

I gathered my body for consecration,
sealed up the gaping era. I know no more.

My lips formed the words with a foreign tongue:
There is hope in the reach and a latent belief.

Inside was desire
Purity in existence,
a lifelong contentment.

and the concept of whole.

The quiet solace of downpour – engulf me, Lord

and swallow me whole – manifested itself as a
home and a husband and a pregnant belly. The lovely of it
could not be dismissed. I choose redemption, the cleanliness
of rooftop in October.

I chose to want the Belly.

I want the belly of it.
I want – speak it – the man of the faith
with the face that makes hurt.

The speaking makes hurt.

And the Belly and the Lovely and the Man without End

The desire is making me whole.

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