POEM: Are You A Friend of Dorothy?

As a friend of
I wood ax
More than won quest in
A bout
Her call
As a tenet in passable saint hood
As if a priest to nun
Or mirror lay person
Aborting gaiety
As an infallible sign of ’s presents
Kneaded, sow kneaded
As abandon plays on
The her
Inn to their starting lyin’ up
With little roam for others
As prize winning dogmas
For sake others
Worshiping sons of bitches
Of average Joes and Mary not
Engendering
Threw con genital souls
Full of wholes
As if litter
Miss carrion
Never coming to term
Without a hitch
Only finding one self
One to an other
Side by side
Fitting
For lives filled with scant do
An offering more than
Sum well
Published comic marvel
As if conceivable in a man’s world
A loan
To the wrest of us
She could never look down to prey
And yet sow much
unearth
Her whole life sew true
And in those untolled smiles spanning eternity
She most lovingly waives
It just
Saint so
What
Ever you due
Don’t save
of the gory
Fore
As will only
In yore wildest
Hand it
Back to you
With teeming interest
As got yours
And every body ails

This poem was inspired by the occasion of Pope Franky coming to and highlighting the of becoming a saint.  This is deeply , since explicitly did not want to be written off as a saint, but cast her lot with the and dispossessed of the world.  As a former atheist who lost the earthly of her life by converting to Catholicism, which he rejected , she was familiar with heartache.  As a who had an , I find her consideration for sainthood more intriguing.  Her founding role in the Catholic Worker movement challenged and vexed  folks — and people of faith as well.  Her living with the and downtrodden is a model of .  This poem posits questions of , which she resoundingly rejected, as separate from her understanding of , the spirit of incarnate.  The title of the poem — Are You A Friend of Dorothy? — is both a question and a reference to the cultural necessity of gay folks needing code words and phrases to navigate in a where they are rejected.  , about as keenly aware of class as possible sought to transcend it.  She was an itinerant peace-monger, ever-seeking creating those spaces where one side fits all. She knew that salvation was not far off, but right in front of us, in its gory details.  She knew what second-class was, not simply by being a woman in a man’s world or a man’s , but by daring to embrace the of more than one class and bring a bout , and the to serve.  Her rightness with God is dishonored by trying to capture that spirit in the form of graven images, mere token substitutes for her authentically and unique, but totally accessible life.  I don’t suspect that Dorothy would approve of a title of sainthood.  I do suspect that she would want us to walk with her.  And in this case, that would be walking among the dead and the living, and everywhere in between.

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