Summer/Fall 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 1997 |

Prayer

Sweet Jesus, let her save you, let her take your hands and hold them to her breasts, slip the sandals from your feet, lay your body down on sheets beaten clean against the fountain stones. Let her rest her dark head on your chest, let her tongue lift the hairs like a sword tip parting the reeds, let her lips burnish your neck, let your eyes be wet with pleasure. Let her keep you from that other life, as a mother keeps a child from the brick lip of a well, though the rope and bucket shine and clang, though the water's hidden silk and mystery call. Let her patter soothe you and her passions distract you, let her show you the light storming the windows of her kitchen, peaches in a wooden bowl, a square of blue cloth she has sewn to her skirt to cover the tear. What could be more holy than the curve of her back as she sits, her hands opening a plum. What could be more sacred than her eyes, fierce and complicated as the truth, your life rising behind them, your name on her lips. Stay the

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Firestarter

By Dorainne Laux

Sweet Jesus, let her save you, let her take your hands and hold them to her breasts, slip the sandals from your feet, lay your body down on sheets beaten […]

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