Poetry |

“Prayers from a Dark Room”

Prayers from a Dark Room

after Lesley Dill’s print “The Word Made Flesh (Throat)”

 

I.  Gehinnom

 

If Hell is less fiery furnace

than a mirrored room

 

with all the lights

left on, with nowhere to hide

 

that what burns

is within us — all the guilt

 

and sorrow from

which we now can’t look

 

away, then let us

accept our faces

 

as they are; let us remember

that one word,

 

doloket, means both

in flames and full of light

 

and know our pain

can be a source of sight.

 

 

II.  I am afraid to own a Body — I am afraid to own a Soul —

 

In Eden, garments of light sufficed, each human a lantern

lit from within, inextricable

 

from their ignition — but now, banished,

these dim skin suits. In our chests, though,

 

a firefly: its faint flares, its cold glow. Lonely lighthouses,

each of us. We blink, we beacon, we long to chorus, we wait

 

for a blaze in return, until — there! — allied, we pulse one

to the next; bind in divine

 

synchrony: for a moment, the whole

planet a field of fallen stars. And from this ensemble

 

bonfire, like smoke scorching from the narrows

of a throat, our fears. A cry

 

for not ownership but communion, a cry to be answered

with expanse

of air, of wind, of ruach, that godbreath,

 

gentling in toward every torn thing, its breach

however meager — moving leaf into leaves, melding

 

body to soul, making of every opening a mouth and

setting us all to singing. Can you hear it?

 

A torch song for the kindred world, this fleeting one

we’re searching for.

 

 

III.  Prayer for the Word Made Bright

 

Bathe the window within us

in photo-sensitive silver. Let us

 

aperture. Let us dilate. What lasts

is what is found

 

by light. Negatives of the divine,

let us enter the stop bath

 

of the ordinary world. Where

we are most vulnerable, most

 

exposed, that’s what makes

the print. We become

 

what is burned into us: what

we open ourselves to.

 

 

 

Lesley Dill, A Word Made Flesh (Throat), lithograph and intaglio on thin, tea-stained Mulberry paper, hand sewn with blue thread to medium thick buff Arches paper (7/10), image: 28 3/4 inches x 21 7/8 inches. Gift of Lesley Dill, Smith College Museum oof Art, Northampton, Massachusetts, SC 2017.38.22. Displayed here with the permission of the museum.

“Prayers from a Dark Room” was commissioned by the Poetry Center at Smith College and will appear this fall in the ekphrastic anthology The Map of Every Lilac Leaf: Poets Respond to the Smith College Museum of Art.

Contributor
Jessica Jacobs

Jessica Jacobs is the author of Take Me with You, Wherever You’re Going (2019, Four Way Books), named one of Library Journal’s Best Poetry Books of the Year. Her debut collection, Pelvis with Distance, a biography-in-poems of Georgia O’Keeffe, was awarded the New Mexico Book Award in Poetry. Chapbook Editor for Beloit Poetry Journal, she lives in Asheville, NC with her wife, the poet Nickole Brown, and is at work on a collection of poems exploring spirituality, Torah, and Midrash.

Posted in Poetry

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