Magdalene
I.
It’s true. Once she feasted from the fat-streaked dish the sea bream’s head, the lapping brine,
the nightly wish, the seeping dread, the need to intertwine,
the coin-gut fish, the broken bread, the muddied, bloodied wine.
II.
After the thing on the hill, she went into the desert.
Her clothes fell off.… Read the rest