communion
jeanann verlee I know a boy who called his girlfriendís body a ďcrime scene.ĒĚ Dad, my body is a crime scene. My body is lint and gasoline and matchstick. My body is a brush fire. Itís ticking, Dad, a slow alarm. I have rain boots. Lots of them. It isnít raining anymore. The words are coming back, Dad. The way they fit and jump in the mouth. I want ice cream and long letters. I want to read long love letters but I donít think he loves me. I think Iím used up. I think Iím the grit under his nails, the girl who looks good in pictures. I donít think he loves me. I think they broke me, Dad. I think I drink too much and itís because they broke me. I heard about two girls recently, two women crushed like cherries in a boyís jaw. It opened me, Dad. My body is melted wax, it is ripe and stink and bent. It is a mistake. I walk like an apology. I donít hate men, Dad, I donít. I want a washing machine. I want someone else to do the dishes, someone to walk the dog. I have a hornet in my head, Dad. A hornet. Sheís an angry bitch ó she hurls herself against my skull. She stings. And stings. I know I donít make sense, Dad. This is the problem. Iím a sick girl, a crazy wishbone. I have razors under my tongue. Iím sorry I cut you, Dad, Iím soóso sorry. I gave you a card for Fatherís Day once, it said you were my hero. You are. Your laugh is a thunderclap, you love like surgery. I think they broke me, Dad. I canít erase their faces. I want to swim, Dad. Remember when I used to hopscotch? I used to make you laugh. My feet are hot. The bottoms of my feet are scorched sand, August asphalt. My body is a slug, a mob of sticky wet rot. No one touches me anymore because Iím rot. Because my body is a spill no one wants to clean up. They cracked me open, Dad, I know you donít want to hear about it. You donít want to hear how they scissored me, how they gnawed me like raw meat. No one wants to hear how they made me drink lemon juice, how they kicked the dog, how they upturned the furniture, no one wants to hear how my skin turned to a dark thick of purple and black and lead. I watch the homeless a lot, Dad. I watched a man with a cup of coins and chips of skin carved out of his face. He had freckles. He needs medicine, Dad. He needs to stop the hornet. My body is a hive. I am red ants and jellyfish. A yellow sickness. My body is a used condom in an alley in Jersey City. I donít think he loves me, Dad. My body is a fetus in biohazard tank. A Polaroid pinned to a corkboard in Brooklyn. I think Iím hurt, Dad. I think I was the tough girl for too long. My body is a wafer, a thin, soft melt on a choir boyís tongue. 120117
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gja Holy fucking shit.
Patched knees on the padded pew.
'Tis the only time you'll touch that tolerance.

Come on Dad. Daddy. Reply. Lets see what you got. Huh?

Breathe deeply.
Bet that picture on the pinboard in Brooklyn shines good. Huh?

Fucker.
120118
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