Mireille Astore

A Gift


Sinister causes
etched on her back
An organ
whipping up screams
And splinters of others?
they hide in her crevices
Salt for the beloved
a gift gone astray
Her hands
frail as a halo
pick the scattered bones
Epiphany for the injured
jabbing needles in vain
Here
Repetition is unforgiving
Offerings
for a high priest
on communion days
And
there’s much to learn
from the one with no laughter
and a heart that beats
for hearses
wounded ponderings and stone
She
probes
sanity and ellipses
For survival
is a game she learnt to play
with razors
sterile and ready
on shiny trays

©Mireille Eid