prayers in exile
by Matty Cash
I.
delivered from the womb of a god that wanted us to rot in the afterbirth,
we took two of every goodwill angel
small town sinners with big city heavens
lonely disciples finding someone to worship with
altars built out of tarot cards, churches embezzled with amethyst
hymnals and prayer transformed into phoebe bridgers and poetry
II.
when I fell from grace you convinced me I was flying
used the wood from my crucifixion to build an arch for someone else
I ripped pages out of thrift store bibles
trying to find a way we could be saved
III.
the serpent of time reveals the sweet apples of nostalgia
filling the wounds of stigmata with zinnias
I still recite devotions for you
even on the seventh day
IV.
I offered you forgiveness--
you told me you had found it in someone else