Poetry, Jessamyn Duckwall
they gave him acid
& everyone wore white.
they took him
to a theater to watch
someone pretend to die
onstage. the theater
was a church
and i followed
my only child there.
they served me
a glass of red and
i tried to reach
him, small one, his face
open to whatever
unspeakable
god waited
among the rafters.
i could feel its
presence heavying
the air. tongues of fire
pressing on my sweated
brow. so you are
here i said as i lifted
my eyes to its
dwelling. i have to
ask you where do all
the prayers go
when they echo back
unanswered. what happens
to your forsaken children
raptureless, alone.
and there, my only child
high on acid was not
afraid of seeing god’s
face the way i was. he was
ready,
it seemed—for he
could not speak— he
was ready to die.
i clung to him
like a drunken parasite
but my wine cup was empty
and i found myself wedded
to the task of filling, emptying,
filling, emptying it.
jessamyn duckwall (they/she) is a queer, autistic poet. They are an MFA candidate in poetry at Portland State University and serve as Co-Editor in Chief at The Portland Review. Their current special interests include Sylvia Plath, stinging nettles, and mushrooms of the Pacific Northwest. Raised in the Pentecostal church, jessamyn is an “ex-vangelical” who writes extensively about purity culture and deconstructing their religion. Their work has appeared in Old Pal Magazine, Josephine Quarterly, Kithe Journal, Sylvia Magazine, Pithead Chapel, and Radar Poetry, among other publications. They’re on Instagram as @babydeadnettle.