Today's poem is a little longer than most we feature, so there's not much of an introduction.

Only to say here is a masterful poem that explores what it is to be a woman living through

grief and desire.

It is also a poem by one of my beloved teachers.

Magdalene the Seven Devils by Marie Howe.

Mary called Magdalene from whom seven devils had been cast out, Luke 8.2.

The first was that I was very busy, the second I was different from you, whatever happened

to you could not happen to me, not like that.

The third I was worried, the fourth, envy disguised as compassion.

The fifth was that I refused to consider the quality of life of the aphid, the aphid

disgusted me, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The mosquito too, its face and the ant, its bifurcated body.

Okay, the first was that I was so busy.

The second that I might make the wrong choice because I had decided to take that plane

that day, that flight before noon, so as to arrive early and I shouldn't have wanted

that.

The third was that if I walked past the certain place on the street, the house would

blow up.

The fourth was that I was made of guts and blood with a thin layer of skin lightly

thrown over the whole thing.

The fifth was that the dead seemed more alive to me than the living.

The sixth, if I touched my right arm, I had to touch my left arm, and if I touched

...