Geodess, Eric Fram
On Tuesdays I am Mary,
with wrinkled skirts
and bruised vagina.
I hide in The Tomb and hold onto things
until they cut into my hands and
I only cry when I smell sweat.
On the other days I am Paul,
holding corpses to sunlight
until they hear sky.
I keep my legs wrapped around
the stomachs (of horses)
and when She passes smoke
to my lips, I tell Her to be silent in the churches,
lest another rock get caught between Her teeth.
If I could spend a night with Mary,
I would take her into tombs
that smelled of frankincense and marijuana:
Sodom and Deborah.
The gardener hears Her in the dark hours
of morning, he mistakes my long hair for holiness
and Her lost clothes for angel wings.
resonates from behind the rocks but
the man who had been inside (of Her) has bled out
by his hands and feet.
About the Author
Mathieson Byer · University of Connecticut
Mathieson Byer is currently working on her B.A. in philosophy at the University of Connecticut. She grew up in upstate NY, but plans to move to the city after graduation. “Marym the Magdalene” first appeared in The Long River Review.
About the Artist
Eric Fram · University of California
Eric Fram is a third year English major at UCLA with a concentration in Creative Writing, Poetry. He is the Arts Editor and a Poetry Editing Staff member of Westwind, UCLA’s Journal of the Arts. He has been published by Westwind and Plum Tree Tavern, and “Geodess” first appeared in Westwind. Follow him on Twitter @ericsfram.