scenes from a college wedding
I mourn what is in its path.
This congregation full of wax museum statues, and God still wants us
kneeling. He’s burned part of the church down, which is to say
a part of us. Imagine if we, too, fell—fell under the spell of the light
coming from his grapevine arms, through his fingernails acting as
the matches we light on Advent wreathes. Even the burned
would get haloes around their heads. Our ghosts, bouncing off walls
made from sterile ash to ash to the ash we haven’t claimed yet.
It's not every day that Our Lady burns, says a père to his son
baptized, now, by fire. You are an artifact. I shall shove you away
before your stained-glass eyes shatter in front of my own.
MP ARMSTRONG is a disabled queer writer from Ohio, studying English and history at Kent State University. Their work appears or is forthcoming in Perhappened, Prismatica Magazine, and Dreams Walking, among others. They also serve as managing editor and reporter for Curtain Call and Fusion magazines. In their spare time, they enjoy rock concerts, board games, and brightly colored blazers. Find them online @mpawrites and at mpawrites.wixsite.com/website.