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Magdalene Poem
by John Taggart
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Magdalena Remembering

 
by Maureen Gibbon

When I was young my body was money. I bought what I thought would 
please me. I would have married a man who kissed the fine fan of bones in
my foot. I squandered my pretty breasts and thighs, looking for him. 

I never slept beside those men. I sat on their laps and pulled kisses from their
mouths—but I never did sleep. Never dreamed. I couldn’t let them see
that in me:  my pictures of red flowers, scented lakes, damask, orange trees.
In dreams I breathed water. In dreams I flew.

After a man left I’d stand a long time in front of the mirror, brushing my hair.
Thinking.

My belly’s empty and I want something sweet.
My belly’s empty and I want something salt.
My belly’s empty and I want a bitter thing.

Somewhere there is a bird like my soul.






From Magdelena by Maureen Gibbon. Copyright © 2007 by Maureen Gibbon. Reprinted by permission of White Pine Press.
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