I. One dunlin afternoon, his past was there. One backlit afternoon, his past, shy but anguished, was there. One finely wrought afternoon, his past stood there, edges furnaced, hemmed in burning. One afternoon, his past, helpless for oxygen, sucked the air thin and stood there, burning. One diminishing afternoon, his past, bewildered, was there, burning, but didn't ask for relief. Could he just keep walking? He closed his eyes, tried to see the madonna II. He closed his eyes, tried to release the madonna to cool that heat, to make it bearable. To tell him: I didn't fear the angel. I didn't fear the bold trumpets, touch on my lips. I wasn't afraid, no I wasn't, no. I didn't fear my heavy body. The other women told me I'd bleed. I didn't fear my body, bleeding. I didn't fear the waiting angel. Don't fear this sad, mangled past. All it wants you to do is say yes. III. All it wants you to do is open your eyes and say yes. All it wants you to do is stand still. Share a breath. All it wants you to do is breathe, unclench your fists and say yes. I know you.
—Jessica Pierce
Published in the Northwest Review, Volume 45, Number 1.
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