Painting by Duncan Long
Apotheosis of Kiss
I dipped my fingers in the candle wax at church—
white votives shivered in red glass
at the foot of La Virgen's gown—
glowing green-gold.
The fever was fast—
my body ablaze,
I pulled back.
Pale silk curved on each finger tip—
peeling it away was like small gasps.
The candles flickered—
open mouths begging.
Heretics banged at the double-doors.
Charismatics paraded the aisles,
twirling tapers, flinging Sunday hats.
The rapture came and went, left
me, the choir's bright robes,
and collection baskets like broken tambourines—
What poverty, to never know,
to never slide over the lip of a candle
toward flame—raving to touch
her bare brown toes.
Natalie Diaz
Forthcoming in Crab Orchard Review issue on Adolescence
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