i’m rattled in this current space my body spilling over with red rage the crash proved fatal you lurked in the shadows another slip-up another flicker of dishonesty
i was ravenous for connection but found only deceit this time, i feel no shame we were already fragile like glass your apologies and regurgitated guilt ring hollow
The ring won’t come off, stuck around my finger for a year, tarnishing.
The emergency room attendants grasp ring cutters, two large, young men delicately snap the gold band, placing the two halves of an opened circle in my palm.
The jeweler melds the ring together. You can hardly see the cracks, all the tarnish polished off, the red impression around my finger nearly gone.
Veneration
I A new church where I haven’t been to confession, still, the priest knows my sins, yelling at me to come up and take communion, wafer stuck in my throat, like smoke, and nothing else.
II The usher doesn’t need to speak, flames in his eyes and gestures, waving me forward to venerate the cross, again, standing frozen, not wanting a cold icon, icy metal body, against my lips.
III Windowless church basement service for divorced families, no communion. The tight hairband of the veil, guazy dress, float away.
The Wrong Church
I was there in a Protestant church, my sister in a white hat,
my mother disappointed it wasn’t a veil, too shy to dance with my new brother-in-law, afraid to go over to my grandparents’ table,
enemies to my mother after my parents’ divorce. Shaking, I sign, witnessing that invalid marriage,
second vows with her second husband allowed once I slide the paper, thin as a wafer, to the priest.
A long-distance chilliness follows about missing my nephew’s December wedding in the church
decked out in Christmas poinsettias, sparkle, evergreen, mink coats. Our cathedral window arches moon’s cloud,
a filmy eclipsing.
Things That Are Red
my grandfather’s hair my nephew’s truck and hair my mother’s lipstick my father’s misshapen plaid sweater my sister’s vacuum cleaner, a Red Devil my husband’s coke can my other nephew’s choir gown my mother-in-law’s roses my grandmother’s eyes my brother-in-law’s tonsils the abalone my father-in-law gave me before he died the blood tying us together
~~~
Suzette Bishop has published three poetry books and two chapbooks, including her most recent chapbook, Jaguar’s Book of the Dead. Her upcoming chapbook, Unbecoming, is forthcoming. Her writing has appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies and won or been a finalist in several contests. She lives in Laredo, Texas. This is Suzette’s first feature with The Short of It.
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a heaviness surrounds the lonely veil i wear of not being remembered while i’m right here silent tears trickle from an ache to be wanted arms reaching out only to be met with distance
what’s the anti-venom for disgust because it’s slowly killing me
i can feel us drift from the magic our love becoming a relic the stars once brilliant, are now dim the water we swim in becoming bloody inky the beast boils within a demise beginning it tracks as the light of love extinguishes no more words will change the truth no longer the hunter of the exquisite i confess disillusionment for this holy union as i hear the echo of desires long gone flames wishing to re-ignite yet dampened by the inability to catch on a spark a reality experienced by so many of us over and over until we just can’t anymore