M. Learns to Pray, with W.
by Anaïs Duplan
In the bell-tower, your eyes shone
more solemn&gold than the crucifix.
The house below began to smolder
in your glow, and my hollow muscle jostled
’round in my chest, like coins
in pant-pockets. The grey body of Lazarus
was not upturned so feverishly
as mine was, by your hands, then:
See the ruined wracks of my soul-shell
realign. See the parched rivers of my body
run.
About the Author:
Anaïs Duplan was born on a small island in the Caribbean. She is the author of Take This Stallion (Brooklyn Arts Press, 2015). Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Birdfeast, Phantom Limb, PANK, Souvernir Lit, The Quietus, amongst other journals. She was a finalist of the 2015 Berfrois Poetry Prize. She is also Head Astronaut at The Spacesuits, a multimedia initiative to generate new concepts for paradise. She has a website. It is here.
