"Disgraceland"

28 February 2017:

Really digging this poem by Mary Karr, which popped up on the Poem of the Day podcast. An excerpt:

"Eventually, I lurched out 
to kiss the wrong mouths, get stewed, 

and sulk around. Christ always stood 
to one side with a glass of water. 
I swatted the sap away. 

When my thirst got great enough to ask, 
a clear stream welled up inside, 
some jade wave buoyed me forward, 

and I found myself upright 
in the instant, with a garden 
inside my own ribs aflourish. 

There, the arbor leafs. 
The vines push out plump grapes. 
You are loved, someone said. Take that 

and eat it."

It's like she's a 21st-century George Herbert, which is a pretty amazing feat. (For comparison, check out Herbert's "Love (III)," one of my favorite poems about feeling unworthy in the face of grace.)