June 26, 2024
thirty-one
lord, i am tipping the scale half asleep
on a bullet train, choking on the afterthought
of bile. you could make every girl on bedford
avenue this crazy if you weren’t so focused on
pinning feathers to your cap. if you slam someone’s
mind with your sturdiest mallet, every thought it
manufactures will be a halfling, half-baked and
half-birthed - come on, you have to see it the way i do.
an obvious choice is still a choice after all. i could
choose to disgrace myself (obvious), but tenderness
is our wooden cross, and you, even at your most
iniquitous, are still one of my god’s most
impenetrable miracles. i could be writhing in
an open field, and still be brought back to life
by your shotgun, signaling the start of the hunt. i am
ready to take my place knelt down before you with
the freshest kill between my teeth. lord, nothing makes me
forget yesterday or the day before quite like watching you
produce feast from mangled flesh.
Ceara Hennessey is an interdisciplinary artist and writer. They received their BA in Creative Writing from Seton Hall University, where they won the 2019 South Wind Thesis Prize. They currently work at the Center for Fiction in Brooklyn, where they design literary cocktails for their bar and read for their various prizes and fellowships.