designer jeans for a designer soul.
the Fasting of Hildegard and St. Anorexia
When I collapse, heavy,
the weight of my body a plastic baggie
of water and goldfish towards the floor,
my eyes flap shut like screendoors in the wind
and I can see the blessed Hildegard
huddled like a stone in here monastic cell,
refusing all food and water and
stretching herself out of her body.

She bows her harrowed flesh
against the dim jags of candlelight that shiver
along the wall
and processes further and further
from her own substance,
exchanging with each narrow
self-less breath,
the palpable pulp of her body,
breasts cleaving to each other,
the friction of unshaved thighs, the soft orbit of hips,
for the gossamer veil of
her celestial body.

And as I hit, the ground,
the second coming of
the Bridegroom Christ,
I am both briefly
and eternally
beautiful.
"Where have You hidden Yourself,
And abandoned me in my groaning, O my Beloved?
You have fled like the hart,
Having wounded me.
I ran after You, crying; but You were gone."

                                                                               - St. John of the Cross
                                                            Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom
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