i wasn’t ready to be a garden for you
i look for god
when the holes
inside me
yawn
and convulse.
when the ache
meets
the letting:
parasitic
love-lock
its solidity,
blood-let, milk-let.
i break
in two
for it. i open
my self
willing
to release it.
i cup the bloodied
embryo in a palm
and weep
for the color
of it.
i look for
god’s stare
but only i
have eyes
here. he may
condemn
(my) body,
its holes and
spillage
but i
condemn his
too. i pray
in a language
he cannot
understand. i
genuflect.
on the floor
(my) blood
gathers itself
for its blasted
sacrament.
i flush
this object, its
tissue-sog
body, go
to my
knees for it
jessamyn duckwall lives and works in Oregon. They are an MFA candidate at Portland State University and the author of the chapbook Sylvia sings in the garden. They serve as Co-Editor in Chief at The Portland Review. Their work has appeared in Josephine Quarterly, Kithe Journal, Pithead Chapel, and other publications.
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