Summer 2010 • Vol. XXXII No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 2010 |

Inside “Our Lady of Sorrows” (Votive Panel, before 1371)

For sorrows visited, sorrows taken away. For the first and last and the middle. For the child who never reaches for the ball, pursed lips and small fingers.                             The long fingers of a prince-not-yet-born, the prayer he says from Eden, the one about the flourishing of the poor, their sorrow, the flags dragon blanching towards us, because third-from-left, something infantlike blooms, a nakedness under robes, the first fading of the halo, or the dust from the church, years of it.            Years held palm-first, held round, a mother's hands on something perfect, something like future for my son, something like when a message has no clothes on how can it he spoken?                      Or otherwise: angel of the left shoulder, of the yet-to-be, make him salt or take him back. Bring him to the gilt-made edge of things, and leav

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Carol Ann Davis is the recipient of an NEA Fellowship in Poetry; her poetry collections are Psalm (2007) and Atlas Hour (2011). Recent work is forthcoming in Volt, American Poetry Review, and Image. This summer, after editing Crazyhorse for over a decade and directing the undergraduate program in creative writing at the College of Charleston for a number of years, she joined the faculty of Fairfield University and began teaching in their MFA Program.

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For sorrows visited, sorrows taken away. For the first and last and the middle. For the child who never reaches for the ball, pursed lips and small fingers.                             The long […]

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For sorrows visited, sorrows taken away. For the first and last and the middle. For the child who never reaches for the ball, pursed lips and small fingers.                             The long […]

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