RUNDELANIA

by Jacob Friesenhahn

bouquet

a stranger came
to our front door
holding a bouquet
of weeds
and wildflowers
whatever she found
on her way
whatever had survived
the summer
like a lost bride
she held the flowers up
a spiky vine hung
from her hand

please take these
I picked them for you
please take them inside
put them in a vase with water
please, they are my gift
for allowing me
onto your property
please, I have no one else
to give them to
and they are not for me






Immaculate Conception
For Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (1648-1695)

O Immaculate Mary, conceived without sin, Created Grace, Unfallen Creation, let us hear again the story of the cosmos, the story of our creation.

In the beginning, there was the Light, shining within Her amber eyes, eyes able to see the whole of nature, holy and pure, eyes able to see the universe reflected in their gold. And there was evening, and there was morning, day one.

There were the upper waters, stored behind Her eyes, waters to be released like raindrops fallen from the floodgates of the firmament, salted tears to be shed in Her seven sorrows. There were the lower waters, the bottomless well of Her womb, the well around which stand all our mothers, Rebekah and Rachel, Zipporah and the brave woman of Samaria. And there was evening, and there was morning, day two.

The dark, rich soil of Her auburn body was born, out of which sprang plants, towering trees and tangled vines and fruit of every kind, fruit unforbidden, pleasing to the eye and to the tongue, fruit good to eat. And there was evening, and there was morning, day three.

The Sun shone around Her head, a warm halo, happily casting his rays in every direction. The Moon sat beneath Her feet, a soft seat of pale light, humbly holding Her, who upholds all. She governed both Day and Night. And there was evening, and there was morning, day four.

The Sea swarmed with the wild beasts of Her mind. The great sea monsters played beneath the bouncing surface of the waters, the dark waves, soaring to the Sky. Her thoughts flew like birds through the air beyond the highest clouds. And there was evening, and there was morning, day five.

Her mind roamed restless across the earth, over every mountain, down into each valley. Thus creatures were born, creatures such as us, born gasping, born from our Virgin Mother into this new world. And there was evening, and there was morning, day six.

On the seventh day, She rested. She sat content with Her creation, pregnant with every form of life. She sat with her hands wrapped around the glowing globe of all that is and is to be.

- December 8, 2020






The Foolish Men and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: A Dialogue

Shining Sor Juana, why did you put on the veil?

I went to dream
my first and my last
asleep with my nine sisters
from our sacred past

Poor Sor Juana, why did you run away?

I went to hunt
with fierce Diana
I went to war
alongside Athena

Stubborn Sor Juana, why become a nun?

I went to fall down
break into ashes and die
inside your burning sand
to appear new in the sky

Brave Sor Juana, why did you take vows?

I went to be free
from all you foolish men
I went to write and write
till you took away my pen

Scandalous Sor Juana, why choose the life of the convent?

I went to become
even before Bruno
a canonized (anti-)Saint
greater than Galileo

Pretty Sor Juana, why did you disappear from court?

I went to get lost
in my glorious library
all those blessed books
creating my sanctuary

Impious Sor Juana, why did you take off your shoes?

I went to love
my Christ, my Jesus
the world’s illuminous Logos
who walks among us

Silly Sor Juana, where did you go so softly?

I went to hide
from my own lover
she was too precious
for you to discover

Saintly Sor Juana, will you pray for us?

I went to be betrayed
unworthy to know or think
abandoned by another mother
sealed up by my bloody ink

Our Sor Juana, will you no longer speak to us?

I went for you
to come to me
seeking knowledge
loving mystery 







presence

if every creature
is one of her words
is she the author
or the book?

and who and what
are we?
are we on her page
or in her heart?

and even before
we were
on her lips
were we
inside her mind
beside all else
that stirs?

when we speak truly
what are our words
if not the echoes
of her thoughts?

and when we are silent
she says what
she really means
and we are here







Matryoshka

Some are harder
to open than others.
Some act as if
they would rather
be cracked
and ruined
than give up
what is held
inside.

Within we discover
it is the daughter
who gives birth
to the mother,
it is the body
that arises
only from the soul
only for a time
before becoming
a soul of her own.

The tiniest little girl
is the only one
who is not hollow,
the seed
who alone speaks:

“Hello,
you have found me
once again
in our game
of hide-and-seek.

“Now return me please
to the holy of holies
made by the wooden
wombs of my mothers.

“I am yours
only and always
always and only
in this moment
of play.”






Jacob Friesenhahn teaches Religious Studies and Philosophy at Our Lady of the Lake University in San Antonio. His poems have appeared in BOMBFIRE, Burrow, Calla Press, Canary, The Lake Front, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Litbreak Magazine, and Nostalgia Press.