i slip into bed, head full of tulips.
if devotion is measured
in repetition, i am inconsistent
morning, mary carved into a bar of soap in my fist,
ornamentation as protection, air of frankincense, voice of
myrrh. unsure about prayer, i waste confession
on a flickering screen,
an island of plastic blooming
another floating downstream
& up, likely stuck, too,
in my body’s rivulets, yet i slice &
seal a mango in another plastic baggy,
confession i am waist high in
bruised fruit at the bottom
of the sea bleached.
midnight, face pressed to a grip of tulips,
vivid-sweet, fresh, i want to swallow them whole.
am i unlatched in my devotion?
sometimes i pray
before meals, more often forget, spitting out
little bones from the same mouth i kiss my lover with.
PATRYCJA HUMIENIK, daughter of Polish immigrants, is a writer and performer based in Seattle, WA. A recent semi-finalist for the 92Y Discovery Prize, she has poetry featured or forthcoming in Passages North, BOAAT, Palette Poetry, Redivider, Poetry Northwest, Four Way Review, Guesthouse, and elsewhere. She is working on her first book, Anchor Baby. Find her on twitter @jej_sen.