Salvation dreams


Jesus saves green stamps, cuts out coupons from the Wednesday night religion section and redeems them later for cash, merchandise and eternal souls. Popular with the jet stream crowd, he travels across the great deserts calling out for a parasol big enough to cover the masses, protect the skin, renewed and arisen, peeled and buffed.

If you had a ceremony to celebrate all things moist and succulent, all things foreign to the dry and simple world of tailored suits, Italian pumps, stock options, warts, candle wax and pantyhose, it would be red and spinning, spinning and wild like stars in a wondrous galaxy, like quarks and neutrinos making love on the head of a pin.

If you had a ceremony to honor all things moist in the world, it would start with mango butter dripping off chins, between fingers and down the soft inner forearm. It would drip into the salt sea, dry and wet all roiled and foaming on foreign shores past dream’s edge, past the first ceremony, the first man, the first woman – Lilith ripening, fair and frightening, the original juicy fruit, the original tree of life. See the sap run, feel the damp bark, hear the frogs, the crickets, the meadowlarks dip into the well; shake and the water sprays in a fine glistening arc.

This is a study in opposites – the coif, the couture, the quiet hiss, the kiss of comfort. Full and round and plump, cut along the edges, cheekbones beveled, décolletage polished and bright as glass – which way is not a circus mirror, twisting curves and corridors as we travel or as we stay still, the secret autism we carry inside watching every unexpected angle as we go? Knowing every step is a maze, away and among the brambles, the foliage, the bitter root sweet berry baskets we pile deep in a far sleeping country where rain is falling.

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2 Responses to “Salvation dreams”


  1. 1 Lollyloo January 4, 2008 at 11:35 am

    Wow! Sharp and gorgeous. Reminded me of a poem by Olga Broumas.

    “…Everything live
    (tongue, clitoris, lip and lip)
    swells in its moist shell. I remember the light …”

  2. 2 Teresa January 4, 2008 at 11:42 am

    Oh, thank you. I just noticed it’s not fiction at all, is it? I’ll retag and recategorize into poetry. I cleaned it up so fast this morning I didn’t really re-read it. It moves well, I think.


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