two slits form on my back
translucent, thin flesh sprouts
veins look like lightning strikes, peppering my wings

struck leaving only scarred, burning flesh
the taste of lamb changed when i saw one get butchered
a knife powered by the words of God

cumulus clouds, blood rain
it’s a miracle they say, the fruit is euphoric this time of year
a promise of honeysuckle

i read scripture with my mother on the mount
a burning bush, the leaves know they will be dead soon
the bugs charred, their screams are mixed with the sounds of hymns

intricate words pass through my eyes
i can only admire my mother
her eyes on the paper, unwavering

read! read! she yells, before God punishes you
i am already the lamb, my heart whispers
i feel the sadness in her lips, the disappointment rooting in her spine

perhaps it is why she feels pain there
the feathers i shed obscure the words i long to absorb
i lie to her that i am gifted, that my blood is in prophecy

did God allow ismael to feel the fire on his skin before saving him
singed slightly, did He tempt him with the ultimate sacrifice
my blood does not douse fires, it simply cakes and scabs

there are lambs birthed from my fallen feathers
my mother cradles one, crimson stains her light-like clothes
the blood of a sacrifice tastes like mothers milk