“Wound of Christ,” Prayer Book of Bonne of Luxemburg, c. 1349
That open slit tucked into a book of hours
conjures flesh and flowers. Gazing
into the pierced side was devotion.
Out leaks blood and water, labored
from a red vulnus staring back at me.
Jesus. He’s becoming a mother.
Someone in the margins grabs a ladder.
Birds come. Pelicans put their young deep
in the pocket of their mouths to feed.
Medieval minds imagined the birds pierced
their own sides, nursed with blood.
The symbol meant sacrifice. Did I say sacrifice?
I meant mother. I meant if that image could
teach me to birth myself out my wound,
I’d kiss it too.
by Brittany Deininger
Brittany Deininger received an MFA in poetry from Sarah Lawrence College and an MA in theology from The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology. Her work has appeared in On Being, Eco Theo Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Vita Poetica, and elsewhere. She lives in New York.
back to Issue 18