at the alterpiece of Saint Teresa
No need to be coy—
you know what
she’s doing
And so did Bernini,
when he found Teresa
in the full-throttle of
her divine vision,
caught her at it,
carving this surrender
so fluidly you expect
the impossible:
for her tang to swell up, ripe
as seafoam, from the gulf
of her flushed and falling
figure. Perhaps this is how
God comes to us,
or should come to us, all:
the bluntly and
beautifully corporeal at
prayers in the Sunday
school of pleasure. Why
shouldn’t He come to us
as He did to Teresa? A saint
on her back—
a girl tearing open
the gift He gave her?
