Stigmata   Just like you, I didn’t wish this upon myself, and I can’t say that it was forced upon me — this fate, this bleeding, first one   hole in my flesh, then the next, then another. Where is my father to take me home, to shelter me, save me? Where is my mother   to bind up my wounds? What’s all this for? My heart wears the scars of unanswered love. Such are my afflictions — now tell me yours.     © Michael Fleming Dummerston, Vermont June 2023