Parochial School, 2016

It’s simple, really.

Hold your breath underwater.

Ten seconds for you,

ten seconds for God.

careful not to mix up

their, they’re, there.

Careful not to confuse you

or you’re or your.

We wore knee-socks high

to the hinges in our pelvises

to cover would be bends and leaks, split-open tangerines

and hid sticky collar bones beneath starchy

primary fabrics.

The sacred was lost to the profanity of our bodies,

And like Nietzsche, to us, God was probably dead.

 

Read this poem in the Journal of Applied Poetics

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