Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

One of my saints

Pope Joan

To feel the golden crowns press down upon her head
the three tiaras, and to hold the keys
to heaven and to hell, boldly to seize
command of all the living and the dead

even for weeks, knowing that shame would come
that they would find and kill her, scrub her name
out of the records. It was not for fame
she let it happen, not the slightest crumb

of that would they allow her. It was pride
perhaps, that Joan felt, worthy of the seat
and worthy in god's eyes. She washed the feet
of penitents, for six weeks could decide

the surest path to god, whose finest jest
on men she was. Cursed, martyred, also blest.
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