alter girl

Sanctuary steps
hewn of stained glass and
false promises
cut her feet, and her own
shouts scald the skin from her
bones:

“What pain it is to be
half-forgotten,”
to which the saints and gargoyles
offer no response.

And to herself she whispers
in a crackle like the pyres of
Rome:
“And what a joy to be
    half-remembered.”