Room 9: Immaculate Heart

Room 9: Immaculate Heart

I stayed in this room last time 

I was here on retreat.

#9, my lucky number.

Immaculate Heart.

My heart was certainly

not immaculate then.

I tossed and turned

full of illicit desire and unrest.

I prayed for the courage to deliver myself

from such pain

such torment.

Give me strength, give me strength, give me strength.

Is my heart now immaculate?

Now that my prayers for strength and courage

were answered?

Whatever pain and unanchored resentment

that remained

was surely blown far away

on the blustery wind I drove in on.

Any last crevices hiding

the dust of regret were cleared

by that frigid howling.

Is what's left immaculate?

I ask again.

No, no, never immaculate.

I am human, after all.

The glaze that covers my heart

is full of imperfections.

Piercings from arrows that missed their mark,

cracks that healed improperly.

No, I wouldn't say

immaculate.

Hopeful, I'd say.

Full of the scent of narcissus

and lavender.

Ambitious like the jet aiming high

over the mountain.

Undeterred, like the waves meeting the

sharp rocks of the shore

Slowly, gently, persistently

softening them

with their salty water.