I am religious tapestries held up by T pins
near the spiders, in the windows
They rise and fall like the breath of a small child
I hear him in the pews

I am old, eroded rock which only religious men get to lay with
Scale me, like I am stone castle
The heat throws itself up towards the sky
off my skin, you know it is warm to the touch
Like soft, plushy faces, 
of Mary Magdalene

I am still holy water collecting dust
Pigeon feathers and beeps that beat
like bombs
Blood in my mouth
And the sun bleating down on my black leather shoes

I am, still, holy water collecting dust
I am an empty stomach
I am an inlaid piece of metal for structure
I am an inlaid piece of metal for decoration too,
But only on my bad days

Kylie Mitchell is a senior majoring in Visual and Critical Studies at SVA. Kylie’s poem “Ode to Blue” is also published in this issue.