Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2017  Vol. 16 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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I left my middle finger in a Bible.
Philippians 2:3—do nothing out
of vain conceit.

I love my body
= libel.

I’d wager Mary Magdalene, devout
down on her knees, had a thing for her wet palms
on someone else’s feet: her strength and grip,
grit in her nails. The murky basin—alms
for sun-cracked cuticles. Hard water. Drip.

The Bible’s thick on its white pedestal
to hold its weight. When closing, how it sighs:
a new martyr to canonize. How cool.

I broke the finger off for heat—the rise
I get when guys say break me off a piece
of that. When fractured, I can tense, release.  

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