He Is

He is something I want to myself

He is real and innocent

He reminds me of Christmas morning

The moment you unwrap the only toy you asked for

Or that burst of energy you’ve been waiting for since noon

He’s a tight squeeze on a rough day

And just the words you need to hear on good day

He is me

And I am him

A collection of all the things that brought us together



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