Emerge, Meagan Dwyer

[Trigger Warning: mentions of abuse]

For the daughter of someone

who loves, it was always

easier to break bread.

White velvet wrapped

around and you

walked on thick revelry.

The cold pews

penetrated my thin dress.

Hymns beat stale

smells between my

thighs and as a child

I tried to picture

a Him ringing,

but couldn’t

I fidgeted some

hurt that I pinned, or

balanced on the head

of a pin that I pricked into

my finger over

and over.

If shapes shifted

you’d fill all

my holes.