Gap-Toothed Angel

July 2015

She is small the way a bumblebee is small.

I call her Savior, Honeysuckle. When her

bare feet dance across the church tiles, I

know we are caught between heresy and

a hard place. When she leaves her perfume

on my sheets, I don’t want to wash them, 

but I do it anyway, then leave them in the river. 

She is always telling me, Oh darling please

don’t worry, oh darling God is on my side, 

and I can’t tell her I have built a shrine 

to anxiety in my closet. I can’t tell her 

I dream in loose ends. How do we become

two loose ends? One of us dies? One of us

leaves and never comes back? This world

will chew us up like dirty communion wafers. 

There is no hymn for the girl who falls in

love with other girls. So now, we are small 

the way something that can be easily crushed 

is small. I call her My First Love. 

She asks me if I ever loved her in the first place.