“Dimensions” by Mary Christine Delea

The vena cava filter guards,
successfully separates my body in two:
turpitude clotting the legs, 
trunk up free from sin.

The filter is the angel of the heart,
human-made materials at the spine’s base,
guardian in place to stop
what should not ascend.
No horn, no robe, no harp,
just a seat in the vein to catch rising evil.

Hell is rumored to have many dimensions,
a demon sphere with many types 
of evil to be found. 
The deep darkness, an ephemeral sense
of an ending.

But the books say nothing of earth,
of body.
This life dependent on blood—
flow, intake, waste, the rhythm 
of organs fulfilling tasks
seems made for wickedness.

What is above is so dependent 
on what happens underneath, the way of bodies
and what we are told 
are the nine circles of hell.
two levels that should not cross.
The beauty of blood,
the chaos of clots.

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