A proselyte lays dying

A proselyte lays dying

Alyssa Souza

St. Kateri Told me:
All flesh will die,
Do Not yearn for fairer flesh.
All desires will die,

Do Not long for
Your own contentment.
All ages vanish,
So Do Not fear their passage.

An impression like a spider web’s,
Intricate as irish lace.
When she is fled,
Once again, my fingers ache.

Sunset strikes the empty chimney
And Bathes the country burgundy
Some days pathetically so,
Some days vengefully.

Cruel, frost’s procession,
Bound to no earthly invitation
Chokes down to my marrow.
Sinks, like an echo, into my material.

Kateri’s moral, sprawled across my shoulder,
inspires my blood to run warmer.
I do not Want for winter to come,
Nor do I long for it to surrender.

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Alyssa Souza
Writer and Illustrator 

Alyssa is a mother, wife, and artist residing in Rhode Island. As an emerging poet, Alyssa seeks to express her gratitude to her friends, family, and faith community for their support in her literary journey.  

Photography by Alex Grodkiewicz