Mary, with swag
Mary said, I deserve a steed for this. The sex
that didn’t need bodies. This swag. No hip
craned nearly out its socket. Not one flex.
is when, down on my knees, my lip
gets licked by Common Whitlow. You must get
comfortable, get both your hands dirty
when thunderstorms play rough with wind. Just let
it kiss you.
I was only half of thirty
when my body had its way with me. Much less
violent than you would think. A kind of shame.
But what is change?
Was I branded a new
woman? Was I a woman yet? I chew
myrrh now to soothe my throat. Feeding, I press
my chest against his mouth and say my name.
“Mary, with swag” first appeared in The Common, Issue 12 (2016).