(no subject)
Next to Godliness
In school, we learned
about the saints -
the eight year old girls
whispering about their white
dresses in line for the practice
wafer, were each given a placard
of St Agnes, patron of children
(You see, you only become
a patron saint, never a patroness.
And so Agnes, aged twelve, was
the patron of children)
Her picture on the plastic card
showed her with a lamb,
her gentle light of purity
encircling them both,
patiently smiling at you.
It was her picture in the
Children’s Lives of Saints
that defined sainthood for me:
tied to a tree, arms back,
her young, proud chest forward,
hair tossed amiably to the side,
an arrow in her heart -
Agnes was experiencing a
most diving torture,
her white gown stained with
her own blood.
According to the holy legends,
according to the passed down facts,
it took the pagan huntsmen
three different arrows,
repeatedly stabbing her
to kill the patron of children.
Years later, preparing for
Confirmation
we learned that twelve years
old wasn’t so young - in fact,
it was the beginning of adulthood;
Agnes was passed out again, a
the ideal young woman
pierced several times with no
complaints for her choice
to be a bride Christ -
dressed in white and bleeding for him.
The legends weren’t lies,
but prophecy, warnings of
what was to come for each of us,
lined up in white.