Angela Alaimo O’Donnell

I know the one I want when I find it.
Turning them over, like tortoises,
rubbing their ridged underbellies, their curves,...

He knit him self up, a cable-stitch of skin.
Pushed his left eye in its socket, then his right.
Cracked the knuckles in his fingers (now so thin!).
...

“The eleventh degree of humility is concerned with the manner of speech . . .”...

Now forty winters have besieged this brow
that bears the mark of ashes once again,
its shallow furrows yielding to time’s plow
as, on command, I turn and turn again....

Snow falling into my open hands.
Like grace. Like mercy, I say.
Flecks of light from heaven.
Splinters of struck stars.

The birds fly frantic....