In one corner of the basement, a couple
recreates La Pieta in a beige recliner,
shrine sanctified by tongues.
We receive Necco wafers & boxed merlot
under strings of Christmas lights, neon
spikes of strobe. In the seconds
between shadows: take this body &
bring it into Sunday, electric chords
thrumming. A luminous mystery,
how our mouths move in the dark.
Take this blood & turn it to wine.
Take this wine & turn it to water,
the work of human hands &
this makes us miraculous.
recreates La Pieta in a beige recliner,
shrine sanctified by tongues.
We receive Necco wafers & boxed merlot
under strings of Christmas lights, neon
spikes of strobe. In the seconds
between shadows: take this body &
bring it into Sunday, electric chords
thrumming. A luminous mystery,
how our mouths move in the dark.
Take this blood & turn it to wine.
Take this wine & turn it to water,
the work of human hands &
this makes us miraculous.
Shannon Austin is a writer from Baltimore, MD, with an MFA in poetry from UNLV. Her work has appeared in Drunk Monkeys, American Chordata, After the Pause, The Shore, and elsewhere.