Our Lady of the Blue Fingernails
If a mouse and candle are sealed
in a glass vessel, both will compete
for the nitro-aerial spirit. They will do this
even as they expire, and Bernadette
will wheeze while carrying bones
to the rag and bone man, right before
causing a spring to flow where none
had flowed before. A spring where four
million will, much later, put the water
to their mouths with cupped hands and
taste the tang of copper and something
else more forgiving--like walnuts or lilac.
Our lungs, like water, could be said to
cool the fire in the heart, to
ventilate it. But hers did not work well
and she burned awfully, even while
closing her eyes and sniffing at the thinning
air of evening, she burned. Even as she knelt
in the grass to take off her wet socks
she burned. During this burning
A lady greets her, and Bernadette's skin
grows translucent against her skull as the lady
winks as if to say, "Oh dear, you are
angel-complected." And what Our Lady
really meant was it's just air
sweetheart, not the Animator of
the Universe. Just air and you can live
above it. Bernadette took this
to mean she must make something
bigger than her body, because her body would
not outlive her. And something was built,
much later as her body lay in
Nevers, as women wore finger waves, plucked
their eyebrows, drew in their cupid's bows
and prayed for 1934 to come. Bernadette smelled
of violets, still. That smell was the core
of her empire rising. After she could not see
each eye reflecting her own blue fingernails, her likeness
now useful, decorating matchbooks and coasters.
Bio Note
Allyson Shaw has just completed a novel loosely based on the life of Saint Catherine of Siena, and currently lives in Long Beach, California. Her work has recently appeared in The Birmingham Poetry Review,
Volt, and The Berkeley Poetry Review, and she recently won second place in the annual Mudfish poetry contest. In addition, Allyson has published in the online publication Octavo.
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