we all know that people
with the same could easily
fall in love with each other.

Catherines; of siena & alexandria
wearing white cowls & wedding dresses, 
one rising, one drying the plates 
i'd left over in the sink.

the purple sponge. siena,
turning her hands over in the hot 
water till they were red,
the stigmata coming off like
ink marker, down the drain,
all the years of bleeding.
alexandria kissing them,
telling her she was 
a good wife, 
she was the best wife.

the wedding bands,
simple gold, 
i ask to hold them.

in high school when i loved
a boy & thought i was a girl
i would sometimes look 
at bridal magazines,
mythologizing a wedding.

it wasn't that i wanted
to marry him but that
i wanted a photograph-able
future, the shapes of dresses:
the mermaid, the ball gown--
pearls & lace

i do,
i tell the Catherines
i do love you 
in a way a God couldn't 

& they start to weep,
only instead of milk or tears
purple streaks down their faces

we laugh & the colors
change, from purple to blue
to red, not a blood red
but a scarlet garnet--
the kind of blood girls
without gods get to have,

divorced women,
the wedding bands down
the sink's throat.

the kitchen floor
dripping with color
like oil spill rain

we finger paint 
their dresses, they kiss
me, leaving purple
& gold lip prints 
on my face & my shoulders

i leave them, holding
each other on the counter

i do i do i do i do

i don't wash the
marks off before bed--

what a mess what a mess