Greed | Charity
In
purgatory, penitents are bound,
immobile,
laid with faces pressed
down,
gazes fixed upon the ground
as
they contemplate every excess.
We
thrill to imagine their holy distress,
take
pleasure in the sufferings
Dante
conjured, horrors meant to impress
us,
sate our love for earthly things.
We
enter the fire a crude compound,
sizzle
until we incandesce,
until
we’re nothing but a mound
of
gold, stripped of the dross of worldliness.
Origen’s
metaphor doesn’t hold unless
we
ignore our end: coin clutched in the purse strings
of
God. Still, we ask the divine to assess
us,
sate our love for earthly things.
Whatever
peace we may have found
through
our acquiring, our largesse—
how
our generosity astounds—
harbors
the low rumble of pain we repress,
afterimage
of the dispossessed
we
try to shake, but our senses cling
to
the hoardings, petty thefts that possess
us,
sate our love for earthly things.
We
don’t trick, manipulate—simply say yes
when
offered our due share as conquerors, kings,
and
with grace, tip our crowns as we beg, bless
us, sate our love for earthly things.Jennifer Perrine is the author of three books of poetry: No Confession, No Mass (2015), In the Human Zoo (2011), and The Body Is No Machine (2007). Find out more about her at
