Arlo Lentini
And The Angel Says, Be Not Afraid
How could you be anything but afraid
Of the Angel with no mouth, that wretched mass of eyes & flame & teeth
The Angel has no mouth but it has canines that carve sigils into soft flesh;
It opens your ribcage for bones to pick muscle & sinew from its molars
Your ribcage is cracked open, your heart, now only muscle and sinew in your hands
& they say that to be loved is to be devoured
& to be dead is to be devoured
Hell is where woodland creatures make a home of your chest’s dark cavern
Hell is a woodland creature, rotting in the dark of you
Because you are the car & the headlights & the doe left to die on the tarmac &
the car doesn’t ever stop, just leaves you to die on the tarmac
drowning in the ichor of a god that is no longer & the river
runs red with the all the ichor of a god long gone
& their dead language rattles in your chest. Now
your breath, a language dying, rattles in your wrecked chest
How could you be anything but afraid?
Pia Mater/Dura Mater
Who taught you
to deliver
this weary gift devoured
praying to come
out cleaner next time
dreaming of clenched fists
while you learned
to cradle your young
with a body trained
to hold
only grudges
when you look up
to the sky
and search
for that celestial beast
would you instead
find yourself
refracted
if you laid down
your palms
to heal
the mangled heart
would you remember
to retract
your claws
what is a mother
if not
the first hand
to bite back
to taste
proof
and survive
Elegy In the Final Days of Summer
it was the summer of blackberry bushes and baptismal promises
your fingertips purple and red, stained with the spirit of brambles and berries
the dreamless sleep seeping into long, lazy afternoons
your cherry stained church clothes, juice dripping like wine–
or blood–down your once white dress, washed-out whispers
of the summer of blackberry bushes and baptismal promises
the sun set into starlight, magenta magic melting to the tune of
cicada songs, heat breaking into beating heart hymns of the city that sings you
into a dreamless sleep, seeping into long, lazy afternoons
father forgive me, for i have rested in the languid love of
the sweetest season, sang o’holy light to the sacramental sunshine, worshiped this summer of blackberry bushes and baptismal promises
i climbed to the top of the bushels, berries into baskets to bring home to my brothers swapped secrets swallowed by the stream that held my head and blessed me
it was the end of summer and blackberry bushes and baptismal promises
and the dreamless sleep seeped into the cold and quiet days
Polaris Booth, Untitled