FNS: To Love a Prophet is to Become the Desert by Lauren Boisvert

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Every Friday night we feature a short story, essay, personal narrative,
poem, spoken word, or short film for your enjoyment.

Helen Presents: a poem by Lauren Boisvert


I am born with sand in my lungs.
I become the desert.

I become a witch and set my
frigid fingers against your forehead.
You are my beloved. You become a wolf.

You spread my body in the sun
and cover me with you, your body
and we are desert snakes, writhing.

One night I become the moon,
you become the salt of stars behind me.
You are what I set my sorrows against,
this reflective light.

I am born with wounds in my hands.
I hold them like little plums.

At the same time, you are born
with wounds in your feet. You walk
on needles of desert sunlight.

We find each other in the eyes of a skull,
the empty inverted heart of the nose.
Dress me in deerskins, take me to the woods,
paint my face in blood and make me into
something better, something godless.

I spit sand in the undergrowth.
The desert will never leave me,
even as I leave the desert.


Lauren Boisvert is a creative writing major at the University of Central Florida. She has had poems published online and in print in Mochila Review, Young Writers Anthology, YARN, and The Broken Plate.

 

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