by Lip Manegio

confirmation

i am held in the wet of a mouth & someone names it sermon
my body pulpit / my gender responsorial psalm
        a thing only made complete when someone else repeats it back to me
everything is slick as we break bread and make this a final supper

i lie and do not tell my grandmother
                        i never took a saint’s name
                i say i would have picked Joan
                and maybe it was because i could already taste the light

apostle me to bed
    i mean
i was always something communion wafer

the church kneelers are always the first to be taken by the moss
the tabernacle is always the last
                trying to protect the body right till the end

we were all baptized once
                      we were all sacred once

a hand draws me into oil anointed & a body is made holy again
    i mean
all of the doors have lambs blood above them
        & no one dares to touch me without my prayer

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