LIFE Poem: Contortionist’s Communion, by Eliza Gibbs

The bedroom is on fire
and you’re reciting scripture–
amidst that ashy candlelit mirage
with hands gripping onto her charred
remains
sacrificial lamb strewn across the tile
waxy skin melting off bone,
finger to wick
planting petrol infused kisses upon
disintegrating lips
through drunken words in
worn-down confessionals
where you were told to sculpt your
spine like a pew
in which people could sit until urges
were forgotten
to contort your back into a table-top
for Man
to rest their hands on, where they
could pray until you’re
worthy of God’s love

to let them eat your body like bread
and
drink your blood like wine
until there is nothing left but
communion of the pieces you once
were
scattered about the gasoline-doused
flooring
you remember becoming Hansel and
gretel on your wedding day
only to leave her figmented crumbs
and a mouthed amen and i do behind
stained glass

Author: poetryfest

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