“Live in the world as if only God and your soul were in it”
Walking up the hill from
the house Dylan thought
he saw a bag of trash
at a distance on the curb
we got closer it calcified
into a grisly shape
barefoot and almost
naked we leaned into
our walking unsure was this
a woman or a child
joked about Blue Velvet
felt unreal like you did
until this moment hastening
our approach we breathed
hard turned toward each
other turned back and
the shape was gone
likely through a side door
or around the yard is it
my job to consider every
angle or one in excess
though I have known
only the briefest glimpse
of camp even I know
fire’s inherent potential
later I’d collect my own
ghost stories some nights
with the door closed I stare
what feels like forever
into grief’s mirror
hold on too long
an instant where
we are both
barefoot
November 22—ST. CECILIA, Virgin, Martyr
Want to write about this date
but also can’t stop thinking
of livestream I saw masked
Italians processing toward
basilica of Our Lady of
(Good) Health (no evidence
of her existence or meaning
outside erection of Plague
church 17th century
requisite construction to ward
off Plague, humans always
producing capital) in the year
of our Lord 2020
first pandemic nascent end of
Anthropocene last night
by the backyard firepit
I read out loud Wikipedia
article for Our Lady
of Fatima, Portugal
skipped all historical
political context for
another night/another mind
focused on the whole “day
the sun danced” thing
recalled picture book relayed
tale in utter seriousness when
I suggested aliens he shook
his head not to disagree,
exactly. St. Cecilia and yesterday
Our Lady, aiming to usher in
an era whole of virgins.
For flames to hold no
power over my body.
Head half severed at
nexus of long
beautiful neck in
expectant dormant
docile repose
February 5—ST. AGATHA, Virgin, Martyr
Feels so good
to see what
I am certain
I don’t want
since these days
I exist in
a constant
state of want
take the plant
I can’t take
care of leaves
as big as two or
three or four of
my hands side
by side a leaf is
the word’s not
yellowing if
it’s yellow
already is
it and it is
the word’s not
wanting either
since when I
don’t know but
until when
I do: as
long as
it is
Rachel Milligan is the author of Queen Carrion, chosen by Mary Ruefle as a finalist in the BOAAT Press 2015 Summer Chapbook Competition. Her poems have appeared in DREGINALD, Sixth Finch, The Iowa Review, bedfellows, and elsewhere. She attended Temple University and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and she currently lives and writes just outside of Philadelphia.
Margarida Riggio is a Spanish illustrator with experience in designing posters, books, portraits and other commissioned work. You can see her work on Tumblr & Instagram.
