(Poem) Angel Tongues by Susan Hawthorne

A beguine, Excerpt from a manuscript of the beguinage of Sint-Aubertus in Ghent. Made ca. 1840. From Wikimedia Commons

Hail Mary Mother of God Queen of Heaven Star of the Sea you are a lover to me

our bodies shiver in the cold each shiver a sacrament proof of purity our passion is a cross we bear some seek solace in particular friendships Sister Timothy Sister Ignatia Sister Mathias Sister Sebastian grant this day we fall into no sin

we are daughters of Babylon some of us have been whores we have sinned my left hand is cunning my tongue more so have mercy upon us miserable sinners

at night in our single beds lying on tight starched sheets we have sex we are catholic girls our hands reach across to the next bed we touch our fingers sing with desire fingers follow fingers down to the webbing across the palm knuckles nails in the dark we have sex with our hands our senses escaping God’s custody

we pray the rosary slipping through our fingers our fingers are nimble and quick our tongues flick through the prayers collects meditations psalms chants some of us old women knead ivory beads and spin prayer wheels in mountains which reach almost to heaven we intone om mani padme aum clouds wrap themselves around us the peaks as sharp as a knife edge keen as a blade surly as any city gurl

we live in hermitages painted red wolves snow leopards prowl when food is scarce we live among women the days of our lives spent in Beguinages in convents in monasteries in abbeys in nunneries in houses of caritas we are sisters of mercy we are sisters of charity we are sisters to one another

some of us have become priests ministers rabbis celebrants mystics spiritual leaders and founders of religions it is harder to know whether we have ever been popes

we also run laugh dance sing we eat in the refectorysome of us have taken a vow of silence some of us persecute ourselves with flagellation hairshirts knives cords to show our passion some have seen visions a winged woman in scarlet and purple the mother of harlots of lesbians of loose women of carnal lust a friend of the lion the dragon the eagle but not of the lamb

we are fallen  Babylon is fallen is fallen is fallen we anoint our bodies with oil we anoint our heads with oil

there are some who work with the sick and the poor they come for refuge bruised or their bodies covered in vile pustules vile bodies unclean bodies some have been infected with the plague the roses cover their bodies the children pass the walls each day singing taunting challenging God with their innocent rhymes

we work in the scriptorium with quills and brushes writing painting illuminating our fingers caress the vellum our hands decorate the words with great flourishes of colour with scarlet with gold with cerulean blue

in orthodox shrines to the Madonna we repaint the frescoes the martyrs the saints the angels as a throng of women in choral ecstacy

Illustrated manuscript depicting Pope Joan with the papal tiara. Bibliothèque nationale de France, c. 1560. Wikimedia Commons

Notes

This is one of a series of prose poems in my long sequence ‘Unstopped Mouths’. The original, published in my collection The Butterfly Effect (2005). The footnotes are intended to link to scholarship on poetry, lesbians, prehistory, spirituality and other areas because so many readers are not well-versed in these areas (I know many in Mago are). For example, I give short explanations about Beguinages, Pope Joan, winged women and other subjects. The book is available also as an ebook. See the link above.


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