Sangre de Cristo
By Lisa Masé
A greater force moves
slow as the work
of these limestone mesas.
I breathe its salty sweetness,
find roots beneath, blind,
twining in soft earth,
meeting rocks
and circling them,
always changing course.
I have crossed mountains
to know this sacred body,
mica rose desert
that works me over
with fierce grace.
It hears me weeping
before the mountains do,
casts a juniper log
along the trail
to scrape my shin,
takes the blood that rises,
burns it with relentless sun.
I am holy now,
weary as a bleached twist
of fallen wood,
taken by this canyon
whose ancient curves
are as worn as a woman
sun-drenched her whole life.
Lisa Masé has been writing poetry since childhood. She teaches poetry workshops for Vermont’s Poem City events, co-facilitates a writing group, and has translated the poetry of writers from Italy, France, and the Dominican Republic. Her chap book, Heart Breaks Open, was published by the Sacred Poetry Contest. She is a homesteader, culinary medicine educator, and food sovereignty activist.
