He is a toy cowboy on a horse
and is dragged off into the sunset
while my stuffed bunny heart
waits in the backdrop to be held.
Our God is the small Girl who hides
under beds when yelling strikes.
When She cries, we wait for Her
and hope that the weather calms.
What can my cotton heart say
to a Girl who can barely walk?
How to beg for a new purpose
while I lay stuck in Her childhood.
Somewhere between a flower and a coffin
lies the colorless sunrise outside your windows.
I am devoted and still breathing like the Elin.
You are innocent and still sleeping like the Pothos.
To be a woman
is to be a banquet.
Eclectic, savory, distinguished.
A summer potluck of femininity;
a Thanksgiving toast to masculinity;
an Easter brunch with androgyny.
I wish I had found the butterfly before I knew how to kiss.
Then, I would have kissed you without a flinch.
I would have slept with you until the day was missed.
I would have stayed out of pleasure instead of lust.
Comments
Ooh I love this! The juxtaposition between the softness of the stuffed bunny heart and the roughnesss/toughness of the toy cowboy on the horse is striking. "Our God is the small Girl who hides / under beds when yelling strikes. / When She cries, we wait for Her / and hope the weather calms" and then "How to beg for a new purpose / while I lay stuck in Her childhood" reminds me of Ethel Cain's music (not sure if you've listened to her but I think you'd like her style and the southern gothic/grappling with religion themes). Thank you for sharing this piece!
Thank you so so much, Iris!!
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