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.
Mary Christine Delea is the author of 1 full-length book of poems and 3 chapbooks, and is the recipient of many writing awards. You can find her online at mchristinedelea.com, where she posts weekly poetry prompts, twice-weekly poems by others, and a constantly evolving list of quotations.