Unholy Trinity Poem by Donna Ialongo

three they walked
in one,
papa, fils, and spiritus not so sanctus.
the over image of a none-all smile
lacked the telling kiss.
none of them were their names
(only one embraced name)
they had only one hand
and laughing took from me
like the cat without emotions-
my brand of love...

papa, mon Guillaume
apologizing for your hands.
and quiet, feigning a virgin laugh.
what you made was only
a warm comfort.
and now you can survey
'til your muddy eyes in bulrushes
grow green
reflecting me

you are the doubting, mon fils,
and i tend to disbelieve your chromatic eyes.
once i revolved the sun in you
and saw your heart echoing in a mattress,
but the sun was only happy rubbish
sleeping in a moonbeam.
and i could not doubt as yet.
6 o' the moon was i greater
than the trinity

and when my birth was breech,
they were only thoughts of legs
and morning sickness.
'O, a lover is someone
to run in the sand with.'
Leman, leman, wish no running

Spiritus of Petros
a talking god third
and a smile as long as his lashes,
with the epic heritage of a lyre,
true brother of Aristophanes.
and absolute son of Plato,
summer is ycomen in
round you see me
loving to love

(March 4,1966)