HOPE TRACT
after Ocean Vuong
“I praise you because I am fearfully
and wonderfully made”—Psalm 139:14
Because there is no hatred between a bee’s knees
and the pollen. Hey. I am cut
throat and I admit flowers are still beautiful
outside of a crumbling cathedral. Because the chords
in my throat drowned in hymns long before
I was baptized in my boyfriend’s pond.
Because I will always need to share
a little gospel. I memorized
the stem, the stamen, and the pistil. I sank
my knees into the soft, yellow of hope—
felt the good news spread.
MY FATHER’S EYELASHES
after Dion O’Reilly
Unruly wild snakes, like Satan’s
pubic hairs. Gates to hell.
The door to a swamp—
toad-green and fermenting.
My father’s eyelashes, a thousand
mini-machetes.
His corkscrew eyelashes, his rabid
eyelashes, his scorpion eyelashes.
My father’s eyelashes—the first
fluttering thing I’ve wanted to bury.
SOMEWHERE, A PACIFIER IS USED
for the last time. A child lets go.
The night groans as I fall asleep
on his pullout couch. A grandma
puts her oxygen aside. Time
is passed around like diamonds
in a good family. We borrow
each other’s last closed fists.
