SALTWATER SUPPLICATION michelle shen
“When I say my name / I hear a burned-down church.” — Bob Hicok, from Elegy Owed in the emptiness of car crash blackout the thrum of blood rushes to your head you see oceans crash and burn, have you ever seen water light on fire, it smells like the cinders of dreams decayed even the silence bares its teeth begs god to die asks for answers you can’t give wipes its mouth on dirty lies grins and snarls, because it knows the goddamn terror will eat you alive this is the art of never being enough ferment your sadness into fine wine, keep toasting unto your destruction repent the sin of existing this is the antithesis of resurrection sitting in the lobby of the hospital third floor my sister declares all the women in our family are fucking crazy i hear her words in my mouth crystallizing like salt on my tongue i wonder how to tell my parents their sacrifice was wasted on me how it feels like my insufficiency dissipates their struggle here lies a tome of death, generations of women who tried to erase their voices with their own hands, but when it was my turn, i kept taking a breath before going under god i made a promise that i would never let nostalgia warp history but promises mean nothing if their integrity was compromised from the genesis and history demands to be heard history won’t stay down history is repeating itself like clockwork you wake up one day with lead in your mouth and blood on your hands lord cleanse me for i do not want to be myself any longer ashes to ashes, you are pompeii’s immolation dust to dust, you are noah’s inundation
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