I look for you everywhere,
running around our streets as if
the concrete carousel was the Garden of Eden,
but I've tripped and painted my knees the colors of fallen leaves or rotted fruit:
dark reds, deep browns and dusty greens.

I have sought you since we were Adam and Eve.
So I’ll justify your judgments if you’ll love me Leviathan.
I will bend like a pliable prayer 
if you promise me that I will be more than altar or offering.

If it’s me versus sanity,
I’ll compose a hymn in tongues and 
beg God to make me your wishbone,
one quixotically carved from the rib I was born from.

I’ll gnaw to be close and 
bleed to be believed and 
burn to be seen as divine, and 
you may consider me crazy, but my book is about love 
despite writing it with a clenched fist.

Remember how men transcribed the bible in the blood of others and
women loved the good word so much they helped rewrite history to 
glorify goosebumps they received by men pretending to be God?
I’ll admit that I fit the mold of a woman who rewrites history 
just to make hell look a little bit more like heaven.

Featured art: A picture taken by Artist Holton Rower for The Wishbone Project.