Crystal Barrick '11
a gloss after Elizabeth Gilbert
Not all my prayers beseech you—
on the widest nights I’ve tied
a wire to a tin can, swung for the neck
of the nearest shining idol and howled
so proud. I needed answers right then
and no, not you nor the moon have ever
spoken down; not to me.
I am not ashamed
of a man’s teeth on my ear, his cold,
slick arms as he uncarefully
removes all doubt. I pull his brass hand
onto my thigh, and I
let it stay there, because I asked
him a question and he answered
it quickly. If devotion is diligence
without assurance, no—
I can never wholly worship you.
About the Author: Crystal Barrick '11 studies literature, education, and the fine art of fixing things.