Church

By Kim Morales

i believe in spandex cameltoe

monthly yeast infections are religious rites

white residue in a discolored armpit is original sin

thin, creeping stretch marks

make you look like cracked glass prophecy

and so pale blue toenails are heavenly glow

god licks you and you get that permanent sunburn

the beads of slick sweat slide beneath your breasts

to make a rosary of whiteheads  

these are my religions

my holy scripture is written in your greasy hair

and the eyeshadow that muddies your lids

contour all your sins and write about them

you fast so capitalism can praise break on your stomach

you bow down and pray

that the wax doesn’t burn that much this time  

your mouth pink, itchy and sore —

you’re a flagellant with that lip plumper

i believe i will buy it anyway

my sages are the women who decipher emojis like glyphs

with drawers full of black underwear

who know summer’s eve is perfect for curing spells  

orishas with a bronx zip code remind me

there is no father or son

only holy spirits with rose gold stained lips

demons try to sleep in my hair so i keep it fried like my saints  

i know the women who birthed brown goddesses

by weaving them together

prophets who let their beer bellies hang out their jeans  

show me how i will die

when they gut themselves in front of the whole block

oracles with gold teeth and too much chin

promise me that i will drown

la gran puta, i maintain is an abstract deity

a santera — a taína diana ross

in all white, hair wrapped

with sequins hanging off her

guiding me with a wave of her acrylics

i swallow to feel the messiah slide down my throat

a dove dove down to live in my sclera

when my eye was baptized in cum

our sex was blasphemy

my girl killed the devil

carved angel wings into the flesh of his back with her knife

to replace the ones he lost

i am a martyr with double dds

angels descended from a purple cloud

to eat my pussy

you’re going to re-write the bible

Featured in Basement Babes, Issue 16