caitlin kelly

like a lame dog waiting to be shot
I am waiting at your doorstep
my head bowed in prayer
my tail between my legs.

the heaviness of the gun
is phantom in your hands
and you search for it
belly grazing dust mites.

God is not aware of Himself
sentience is reserved for few
but I do not forgive you
with your mouth foaming.

rabies ridden saint riding
the white horse of death
you ask me what a scythe is
I tell you it’s your chest cavity.

you ask me what a bomb is
I tell you it's your back molar
the one with the silver crown.
a part of you but not fully.

This severance is a death sentence
ordained by God. We are made of
telephone wires and when we leave
the island the water turns our
blood electric blue. In the white
heat of summer our flesh
melts together and is sculpted
into the image of love. We are
a breathing clay statue and we
cannot conceive of our melded
form. The mirrors in this country
have lightning bolt cracks born from
the opera singer’s song. Our image
is warped and we realize the world
is a funhouse mirror when we try
to recognize ourselves in unison.