the first week
thank you for buying me
the plan b pill as i laughed.
the bus ride felt like a century long
& the man in the pharmacia asked if
it was for you, you jokingly said
yes. you tell me my laugh is nervous
& i taste it in my mouth.
it in bruises men & women give me when
i am most vulnerable.
every time i notice a woman’s ass
& every time my jaw locks
bible belt carry on
walking through the prado
in the afternoon
i spotted at least five, mary
squirting into a saint’s mouth
that saint sighing
i try to imagine being so holy
that my milk is seen
in the same light
as a blessing
there is a statue of two lovers
embracing, stone that holds longing
i watch that statue for thirty minutes
waiting for one of the figures to
change their mind in the same way
we changed our minds
the next room has thirty paintings
of Jesus’ thighs
we are all carrying images of our fathers
& every father expects us to martyr ourselves
in their image,
not making sense with my own trauma, making love with my own trauma
the year rushes before me, night walks night walks night walks
a year of humming the same tune
with my face.
i am having flashbacks in class.
i am grief with a face
my mouth is made of ash