Marian Apparition

So—

it turns out

the fruit of the Spirit has soured.

Three weeks drowned in a believer’s baptism and

the only creation myth I knew to be true

was that the lump in my throat was formed ex nihilo.

All the cards and crystals in the dark of my room

couldn’t make me believe no matter how many stars I wished on,

and that was before the streetlights began to drown them out.

The neighbors had a painting of Señora de Guadalupe and she

used to stare at me across the sideyard as I prayed, or thought about praying,

as the free-tails flit like embers in the dying fire of the standards,

like she knew despite it all that inside

I was as bent as the Devil himself.