Last
The gown floated with breath
Trapped against my awkward body.
Three times, the sound of water
Echoing as if we stood in a grotto,
Three times you held my body
And declared me holy,
A vessel for your dooms.
I stopped believing, but out of us
All, I am the only one still
Breathing, still holy.
–JR
***
Terracotta Pomegranate
A chapbook of seventeen poems tracing a path through nature from trauma to love.
PersephoneKnits 