St Catherine of Siena (Poem)

Were you ever happy as a girl?
Your troubled head endures
Passed from hand to hand
Now out of your control
As it always was
Like the nail wounds on your hands and feet
That only you could feel
Holy prepuce on your wedding finger
That only you could see
Were you blessed?

The faithful, desperate,
Grasping parts of you
For comfort in their troubles
But for you
The most troubled of them all
Worship or asylum
Was all there was

Your final miracle
Your head dissolving into petals
No stench of decayed flesh
For you
But scent of roses
Still not at peace
But still.
Enduring.