God

I saw the face of god: I fought her, and I loved her. She cradled me like a mother, with her mothwing-gentle mouth, with her spiderweb strength; take me out, take me out and eat me like something ripe, something sweet.

It’s like a confessional, except I choke each time I speak. It’s like when I proposed she build me a church, but instead, she built me a cemetery. Mamá, this holiness, it burns like oil. These scars, they’re a right to survival. The word, “sin,” it rolls off my mother tongue like the sea’s waves; and Mamá, I miss myself. And Mamá, I’m coming home.