Linens hang from me

I stand to rebuild and restore what was lost

The stench of death will stalk me

These pains will ache and swell and ooze

And after the burial has ended

I will emerge

naked, broken, and old

one with the soil stuck to my palms


I will master the art of tea,

souffles, and silence

I will go on


Give Me A Name

The poetry of Adam sucked

into the cosmos

imagined before it had a name

These white eyes laced with fear

guide her into the flame

of God

Her bloom leaves behind

a rosie smear

Yesterday a whore

today a consecrated marriage

never touched

An unholy relic

She’s my bride

We venture into the unknown



-Saschia Johnson