The Galilean and The Magdalene
by Rosa Goodridge and Michael Nanfito
The Galilean ~
I was a broken friend
with a fraying capacity
to care for my cadre
of ragged alliances —
My time spent tracing
arid and empty spaces had
scraped resolve from the
bottom of my boots and
my breath came heavy and
my hot blood hardened and
I learned to live alone,
left to make my way among
remembered metaphors
and errant allegories,
mouthing my allegiance
to an aging image
of an old hope . . .
(the nature of the World eluded me . . . )
You came to me when
I was hollowed and shaking,
the remnants of my honor
hanging about me
like the gleanings
of a graceless ragpicker.
And my stride —
once brazen and bold —
had embraced
the studied rhythm
of a syncopated shuffle.
You came calling
and sat, no words
(just a smile), while your
eyes told our tale and your
smile sang our lullabies and
you breathed my life back to me . . .
(the crush of time scrapes memory bare . . .)
We met in the midst
of purposeful accident,
an aggregate of incidents
curated by Universal intent —
meant to meet (again)
at just that moment
when we, each of us,
paired since birth,
stood in need
of that gifted opportunity
to recall our union.
You with your violet eyes and
glistening wit,
misted with fragrances
of sandalwood and rose,
as we sat, remembering
our future together . . .
(the world fell away in cascading shades . . .)
The Magdalene ~
Something holy has burrowed it’s way out of my bones,
a sacrifice
you perform upon my skin,
this blood is home to all truth
a pulsed racing thing
fiery red manna from heaven,
the holding of all things unkempt
and each breath
a magnitude of life,
(why then can we not drink from it?)
Let me take the chalice
and pour honey into the cracks within your heart,
did you travel far to find me,
lift a veil to seek the tortures
you have brought to my feet,
stay and know that I am the elixir of all truths
the child bride
and the prostitute hauled from hells door,
I am your ruination, your discovery and
the dance from which
all life springs
(why then can we not perform it?)
There are places within me
undone
arms yet to wrap my tired limbs
and a love so fierce
it aches out of each pore
so
do not speak to me in poetry,
but plunge head first into
gaping wounds
I have carved myself
and rest until it is your heart slows
and your breath
that which grows from eternal life
sinks once more into my starved lungs.
The Galilean
The woven years
of a threadbare wanderer –
dyed in saffron and scarlet
and scented with the fragrance
of templed incense –
these were days that
clothed me in the promise
of that fabled Annunciation –
Ten thousand gods and no god at all.
A way of life, and
an aggregate of unending lives –
I travelled far to tempt the tales
that hail from the East and,
having apprenticed myself
to all their rituals, realized,
with crystalline surety that
we are our own God.
(the future lies bound to our becoming . . .)
And so
we architect
our Sacristy each day and
there, beyond the bounds
of ritualized lives,
we consummate unsanctioned acts
as we establish God’s kingdom
in the nexus of our coupling.
Bare bodies and naked souls,
we are a culmination
of divine assignation,
sacred unto ourselves and
completed – the one by the other –
in that flushed moment
of profane inception
as we lounge among the vestments
of our emergent Order.
(the flood of dreams remembered fills our sacred space . . .)
Remember me to myself then –
as you devour me and
embrace my essence –
whisper then of
the manner (the majesty)
of all we have enacted
under the gifted skies and
warming winds of a new Dawn.
Envelope me
in your glistening dreams, Love.
Accept my mysteries and
offer me the wealth of all your ways –
hard earned and accounted for
at the hands of lesser men.
Move with me
to the rhythm of our sacred spaces,
our undulations of desire.
(blood, red and pulsing, warms our play . . .)
We sustain, within ourselves,
the will and the way
of all that is sacred.
Anoint me then (once more),
with oil blessed by your hand,
with widening lips pressed and
your murmuring breath. Ruin me
with the chaos of your passion and
the truth that you administer
(I am a mere man, in need of unction . . .)
Drape your veil across my eyes and
blind me, leaving me to trust in the taste of you –
touch me Love, and
bring me to fruition with
all the spirit that you possess.
Our red blood beckons and
our breaths embrace.
(I have bound myself to you . . .)
The Magdalene ~
You must recall rose hued
skies where clouds
tinged pink by an emerging sun
lay caught about us,
and before the day grew high
and the light burned
a branding on our arms
you would watch I know
as I,
tempered by shadows gathered to me
reeds already withered,
and carrying full to the brim
pitchers of water
would drench the vines
and let parched roots drink heavily,
and all the time
you knew,
that I watched too.
Now, in reverence,
because your holiness stirs me,
I am found, again
and nothing since has riven my soul
like this.
Do I know of your tired eyes and gentle hands,
your skin burnished
and salted from the air?
Dare I find a way into your soul
and bring with me
a sacred untethered path,
steps which lead
to words inscribed,
a sanctuary blessed beneath me
which holds my bruised heart?
I have no knowing of these things,
for love has eluded my journey
and my wanton spirit
has wandered far.
Do not ask how it is I know you beloved
for only god knows
and hears
our call to righteousness.
Warriors have followed me,
torn their questions
from dry throats
and I a beggar in these lands
moved on beyond the whispers
of the driest sands
to seek
and fall at the feet of mastery
a god I have recalled
the death of all which lives in the fruit of cursed and desolate humanity
to find you here,
and once again I watch
and hear the murmurings of your soul.
Listen,
the skies open and light descends
around you
and I with all my worldly knowing
cannot be one to taste
your love
to feel the purpose
of anointing your body
unless it is with the undressing and anointing of my own.
The Galilean ~
We will follow our spirit then,
and sacrifice our past to a future well-dreamt.
We are willful and wild and our hearts swell
with each undulation of this unmediated desire.
Open yourself to me and I will offer my all to you.
Envelope me again as I am grace and
you are fire and we are surging
in just the manner we are meant to.
I plunge my want and you take me deep,
back arched and eyes wide,
and we remember
why we surge from eon to eon, and
how we two will birth the future
from our shared passion,
entwined as we are,
and illuminated with auric intensity –
we are all that matters in this moment.
(there is no admonition for us here . . .)
The Magdalene ~
And I have known that to drink
from the well of your soul
has brought me
here again,
a seer from dark to light
a daughter of the moon journeyed from the stars.
We are here beloved
but do not belong,
travellers who have drunk passion
as wine
borne witness to the fruits of bliss
and seen life delivered through death.
Is it madness to love like this,
to tame the seas
and bring torches from the fires
which
untamed consume us?
Rest your weariness,
for who am I if I cannot hold a sanctuary for your demise
who cannot breach the walls
of prisons held against your flesh and blood?
So travel with me,
lose your hands in the fabric of me
and understand that god
dwells inside the arc of my heart.
I am she,
the one whose flames alight for you,
the rose set to bleed for you
from the crown I place upon your head,
this god is a man of peace,
a eulogy to those who search within
a momentary softness
melted into one,
a union of holy wildness,
j'attends mon dieu,
je l'attends dans mon cœur
Each breath
within me caught and hallowed
a gift from your mouth to mine,
an ending which has stolen from the world
the beginning of all time.
About the poets:
Rosa is a poetess from the U.K. as yet only publishing on Instagram with her first book planned for early next year. She has been writing for many years and was previously a teacher of Creative Arts in the U.K.
Michael lives in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States. He writes poetry and prose (fiction and nonfiction) and his most recent book is “Rotten Fruit in an Unkempt Garden: a Memoir in Poetry and Prose.”
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