“You shall have no other gods before me.” - Exodus 20:3
She expects permission for
a reprieve from life. Palm opened,
limp, like a mouth beat
from performing resuscitation.
She expects the rattling of crows,
the crowing of hens,
the rhythmic hush of the vacuum.
She wants the neon snow of propofol cooling her veins.
She wants the erosion of sands that stripe her middle.
She clocks the long of God’s deltoids
as he turns his back on her once again.
She asks a question only she can hear:
What will happen to me if I [ ]?
The psychic answers with a question:
[ ] is here—would you like to [ ]?
This time and once more her body will yield
to the pressure, yield a person.
though I’m safe,
she’s left raw and marbled.