Supplication

After Laura Kasischke’s “Prayer”

It’s so incredibly fresh out there, 

I completely agree. You can always tell,

in a hometown like this, when a storm 

is coming. It makes my breath catch. 

Remember last summer, all that rain?

My friend and I scarfed down soft pretzels, 

I had worn the same outfit I wore today.

I was so pleased to get rained on 

with him in specific.  

Two boys dated in my high school

and they got called faggots

so often, you’d think they’d stop kissing

in front of the school bus, but they didn’t. 

There’s a kind of bravery it takes to live 

and keep living when you know to everyone

else, you’re just some faggot to pick on. 

Unwavering young love, that’s what it was. 

It feels lonely–night doesn’t perfume 

outside my window like it used to,

I’m not someone worth leaving for. 

I’ve always been told I’m too much, and

guess what? I don’t mind.

The seasons have all melted into

gray branch and jagged sky,

memory double exposed with melancholy.

The rain feels so

refreshingly cold. 

The clouds have taken up the whole sky.

What I’m saying is,

tomorrow it should storm. I can feel it.

I threw out the Converse I kept

for all of high school, tore through over

summer. I’d kneel down in the corner 

of my room, the only spot 

I kept clean, to pray.  

Oh, and 

oh, in case I 

forgot 

to say: ameen, ameen,

ameen.