STARS (MEDJUGORJE) by Heather Cramond

The dress was luminescent,

And she, hardly matte;

Her immense beauty licked with tears.
The Blessed Mother only said,
I see you, quite alone and abandoned.

Taking advantage of this illness, I stay in bed until she returns,
Paint her chapped lips with the water at my bedside.
The others have already received the tenth secret,
But I know nothing of what the executioners did.
Her face should be my answer; doubt makes her weep.

Those who did not respond died, being a chastisement.
They are caught in a hoax but she will find them.
I repent for them, even as they berate me:
I write myself remorseful letters and slump at my own feet.
The more I suffer, the more she loves.
She names me with shards of glass.
A crown of twelve stars, in my own dress;
When I do not see her, only clouds.

I was fifteen years old, alone in the cosmopolitan city;
Poor, banished children: O clement, our exile
Our sweetness smells to her of salvation.