On Monday
I eat the rosary peas to cut the string
There is no pledge to God
Or to make
But to call your bluff
To call your death-
No, to call mine!
On the day, or the days
When the sun turns black
When the moon finally splits in two, like a fortune cookie
When the last war ends
When the golden trumpet blows
And when I have finished grieving
For what
I could not obtain
In the time I had to catch the rosary peas that had scattered
Across the cracking wooden floor
So I eat the rosary peas to cut the string
On Tuesday
Not to oversee
My wake in the morning
There is no pledge to God
Or to make
But to call my bluff
To call my death
When the moon
Breaks bright and blooms
What the sun had not given me
I want, I want, I want
Its haunted grove
Of marigolds and arum lilies
Where the marigolds seep
My father's blood
Where the arum lilies weep
My mother's tears
So I eat the rosary peas to cut the string
On Wednesday
There is no pledge to God
Or to make
But to call my bluff
To call my death
When the black church bells don't ring
And I am on my knees, dagger in heart
My bare stomach and chest
My nipples and neck
Too open as I mewl
Mewl, mewl, mewl, like a homoerotic painting
Meekly at the empty sky
With my velvet brocade and damask gown by my feet, its bodice still glimmering
Bleeding, bleeding bleeding
So I eat the rosary peas to cut the string
On Thursday
There is no pledge to God
Or to make
But to call my bluff
To call my death-
When I am
Mangled at the stem!
When a crown of thorns bleeds my scalp!
So I eat the rosary peas to cut the string
On Friday
There is no pledge to God
Or to make
But to call my bluff
To call my death
When I am, when I am, when I am
Watching the church crumble, brick by brick
Weeping, weeping, weeping
So I eat the rosary peas to cut the string
On Saturday
There is no pledge to God
Or to make
But to call my bluff
To call my death
On Sunday
And on Monday again
