In the stone cathedral, I am offered salvation— a paper-thin promise skims my sinner’s tongue. A tiny bud—blue and wanting. I cross myself in practiced devotion.
A paper-thin promise skims my sinner’s tongue. I tilt toward the prismed rose window. I cross myself in practiced devotion. Ask the ground for what I need.
I tilt toward the prismed rose window, my heart pleads mercy. My voice rises. I ask the ground for what I need: star jasmine, lilac, morning glory.
My heart pleads mercy. My voice rises— a tiny bud. Blue. Wanting star jasmine, lilac, morning glory. In this open-air cathedral, I pray a new prayer.
Luisa Giulianetti is a Bay Area writer. Her debut collection, Agrodolce, (Bordighera Press) was released last fall. Her work appears in CALYX, Rattle, and River Heron Review. Luisa teaches and directs programs at UC Berkeley. She enjoys cooking, hiking, and exploring the expansive beauty of the place she calls home.
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