Stigmata by Donna Jones

‘Faith allows ordinary people to do extraordinary things.

The kingdom of GOD is all around.

Look under a stone and i am there.’

 

You walk the Delarosa with burnt bleeding feet

A baby booted journey;

abandoned;

Born of an alcoholic mother; your wrists already bruised.

 

Belittled he spoke to you in tongues;

Not Aramaic, but of secrets and lies;

Whipped you with his breath

Whilst he tore you with rape my child.

 

Taken, trafficked and silenced

A crown of thorns marked you as theirs.

Heroin carrier, flesh for fish and the bread of dollars.

 

Puncture wounds,

Raised razor slashed arms map your journey, your screams.

Prayers bouncing off the walls of strange rooms,

New rooms, new punters.

Pimps whose eyes hated you.

Bought and sold on.

 

Stitched, you tried to close the hole in your nightmares;

Sew flashbacks into the seams of daylight,

Vodka bleached.

Running, JESUS rescued you;

Tied you to his heart.

 

From refuge to rehab;

A  two year affair.

Trapped in the walls of Church you screamed your sexuality;

Was silenced, watched and set apart.

Love was ‘straight’;

Not that which ‘dared not speak its name’.

But you did, needed no pulpit from which to proclaim

I AM A LESBIAN.

 

Not because you were trafficked, traumatized and abused.

This was no whiplash reaction.

No shroud of hatred.

A new naked wilderness called you;

Burnt your tongue for speaking.

Sand storms scratched your eyes for looking.

 

Washed in bitter herbs we dried you,

Soothed your sores in ointment of chrism; and took you in;

No Sinner and no Sin.

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