<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Holy Theotokos Save Us<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n In the cathedral empty of true feeling,<\/p>\n the icons are beautifully silent: blue and Why is it that we cannot remake<\/p>\n childhood myths into adult Why are we broken and torn by stories<\/p>\n of the damned?<\/p>\n The Trinity intoned and like rote childhood<\/p>\n conditioning, I murmur most Holy Theotokos from our own evil we are taught,<\/p>\n from the two that ate the forbidden, so we are broken on the rack<\/p>\n signs everywhere: in malls or of that mythic time when we were never<\/p>\n given a chance\u2014<\/p>\n but perhaps salvation is<\/p>\n loving those outcast, like us, knowing that we are really plucked<\/p>\n as a wet body from that if the words are cast off<\/p>\n they cease to matter.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ralph Monday<\/strong> is an Associate Professor of English at Roane State Community College in Harriman, TN., where he teaches composition, literature, and creative writing courses. He has been published widely in over 50 journals including The New Plains Review, New Liberties Review, Fiction Week Literary Review<\/em> and many others. His poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Houghton Mifflin\u2019s \u201cBest of\u201d Anthologies, as well as other awards. A chapbook, All American Girl and Other Poems<\/em>, was published in July 2014.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Self Portrait at 19; Christmas in Kansas<\/strong><\/p>\n Pacing the hard-packed dirt floor of the basement, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Bethany W Pope<\/strong> is an award-winning writer. She has published several collections of poetry: A Radiance\u00a0<\/em>(Cultured Llama, 2012) Crown of Thorns<\/em>, (Oneiros Books, 2013), and The Gospel of Flies<\/em> (Writing Knights Press 2014), and Undisturbed Circles<\/em> (Lapwing, 2014). The Rag and Boneyard<\/em> has been accepted by Indigo Dreams for release in 2016. Her first novel, Masque,<\/em> shall be published by Seren in 2016. Website: http:\/\/bethanywpope.com\/<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Holy Theotokos Save Us In the cathedral empty of true feeling, the icons are beautifully silent: blue and green hues, golden halos, the choir in perfect harmonies taking us across time, space, to the beginning days when the naming began, where we began that which brought us here\u2014 Why is it that […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[48],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9869","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-twelve-days-of-christmas-2015"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9869","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9869"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9869\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23968,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9869\/revisions\/23968"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9869"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9869"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9869"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\ngreen hues, golden halos, the choir in
\nperfect harmonies taking us across time,
\nspace, to the beginning days when the
\nnaming began, where we began that which
\nbrought us here\u2014<\/p>\n
\nacceptance?<\/p>\n
\nsave us\u2014<\/p>\n
\nthe ban passed down from birth to death
\nlike stars that never cease shining<\/p>\n
\nbedrooms or social media or all
\nthe flickering images passed by like
\nkaleidoscope snapshots which define
\nthe words sung out in church hymnals<\/p>\n
\npardoning the unforgiveable,
\naccepting all that is broken by
\nbroken words,<\/p>\n
\nwet earth,<\/p>\n
\nmy bare feet blackening, I\u2019m desperate to block the
\nhowling storms in my head. The house is silent
\nabove me; my family asleep in their innocent beds, content
\nin their ignorance. I\u2019m falling apart; unpicking my history.
\nPacing the hard-packed dirt floor of the basement,
\nburning my body down to a gray wick \u2014 scented with sweat \u2014
\nI use pain, as always, to prove my reality.
\nHowling storms rage in my head. The house is silent
\nas the manger \u2014 three days after Herod. Heaven sent
\nno bright angels to warn me.
\nPacing the hard-packed dirt floor of the basement,
\nI can’t outrun the memory of the draughty barn I spent
\nmy blood, died, and was reborn in when the rapist\u2019s shovel struck me.
\nHowling storms in my head; the house is silent.
\nMy father won’t talk about why he sent
\nme to the orphanage. He won’t speak the phrase to set me free.
\nPacing the hard-packed dirt floor of the basement,
\nhowling storms rage in my head. The house is silent.<\/p>\n