The drinking glasses stay in bed
Tight and dry in a shadow chest
Light invades the belly-hole
She’s been trying to cleanse for weeks
Walls will harden under harsh neglect
Violent piety will crack riverbeds
Our Lady of Guadalupe lives in a candle jar
Who told her a belly glow would placate her questions?
Old jars deserve to be sipped
Soured wines form brown stains
A frequent rinse recalls her grace
A secret fix to drown the cellar kitsch
Live Wick, she looks pretty through the murk—
The time has come to patch the crack, lady
Spirits have been leaking from your holy wall
In addition to writing poetry, C.T. McClintock is a memoir writer and studies the intersections of creative nonfiction, literacy theory, and trauma theory in the PhD program for English at St. John’s University. She also teaches undergraduate writing and works in the SJU writing center. Her most recent work can be found in the Remington Review and is forthcoming later this year in SoFloPoJo, Adanna Literary Journal, and Anti-Heroin Chic. She currently lives in Brooklyn. Visit her website and follow her Instagram for more of her writing.