Come!
by Michael R. Burch

Will you come to visit my grave, I wonder,
in the season of lightning, the season of thunder,
when I have lain so long in the indifferent earth
that I have no girth?

When my womb has conformed to the chastity
your anemic Messiah envisioned for me,
will you finally be pleased that my *** was thus rendered
unpalatable, disengendered?

And when those strange loathsome organs that troubled you so
have been eaten by worms, will the heavens still glow
with the approval of God that I ended a maid―
thanks to a *****?

And will you come to visit my grave, I wonder,
in the season of lightning, the season of thunder?

Keywords/Tags: sonnet, god, religion, Christianity, puritanism, chastity, ******, virginity, nun, ***, lust, desire, death, grave, passion, lightning, thunder, earth, womb, tomb, worms, organs, maid, maidenhead, *****

We decided to drive.
I sat in the back because, you told me you were a good driver.
I sat in the back because I trusted you.
I let my body hover over the seat, shivered as the cold metallic handle graced my hands.
You told me, I didn’t need to.
I didn’t need to wear the seat belt because we were so, so close to our destination even though I had no idea what that was,
I didn’t put my seatbelt on because you told me not to.
And as the green lights turned to yellows and reds
We kept driving
All along the same road
The roads turned from single lanes to four; 5 lanes to one
And I kept looking out the window
The little girl in the back seat
Trusting people is a privilege.
I remember your hollowed voice echoing through my ears as you turned the volume up
How you tried fighting over the bass, hoping you’d get your message across
And we drove
We drove past trees and the ocean; across canyons and we even tried driving over the moon, we would have done it if we could.
And I remember trusting your hands
How they moved over the steering wheel so gracefully
My mother always told me to be relaxed and to trust the driver, they have your best intentions and anyways I never liked fighting
So I decided not to fight
And as the sun said it’s final goodbyes and the last layers of light was stripped away
And like painting over walls in a new house
The stars crept in, but eerily
Your hands did not glide over the steering wheel anymore.
Not graciously, at least.
I sat in the back, all alone
I repeated in my head the vows, the trust, the desperation
I decided to hum along to the music, the music to drum out your ramblings
We drove for so long.
And your hands did not feel safe anymore.
I wanted to say stop.
I wanted to cry out in all that is holy-
I wanted to put my safety belt on
I wanted my mother
I wanted it all to end
After all, I never liked driving, and my trust was barely holding on, it was caving into itself as the trees tried breaking our windows.
Your feet slowly, daringly hit the gas
You turned the music up so you couldn’t hear my shouts, here my deficit crying
Even though nothing floated out of my mouth
Nothing came out, only tears
Only wonders and what ifs
And nervous air
You gambled with the breaks, decided it was never worth stopping
I remember crying in the back seat.
We had driven so far.
I was told good girls are quiet
You said you wanted the best for me
And so you hit the gas
And over the moon we drove
Over the biggest canyon we went
The trees carried us on our journey
And the glass broke the chains of every memory and thought one has
The glass broke the seat belt.
The glass broke my screams.
The glass broke me.
The glass cut itself.
Once you fell next to me,
You finally stopped
I never liked to fight.
I never liked to yell.
I never liked to be quiet either.
I never liked to scream.
But I always hated driving.

The Deflowering
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Remove your clothes;
let down your hair;
become as naked as the day you were born—
virgins!

Native American translation originally published by The HyperTexts

The Receiving of the Flower
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us sing overflowing with joy
as we observe the Receiving of the Flower.
The lovely maidens beam;
their hearts leap in their *******.
Why?

Because they will soon yield their virginity to the men they love!

Native American translation originally published by The HyperTexts

White roses bed the windy plains
Glistening cool dew
as the sky runs in grey and stone
The petals run through my soul

But then the day sets.
a trip, a trick, and a treat.
Dirt on my hands as the sky roots me
and in languor I wait

As it skims my body
my skin, it hurts, it complains
It could have been erased, but now
Red beds the cruel plains.

after that night
after you left
at 11:52 am
i cried
for two hours
not because it was bad
but because
i was scared
so so so scared
cause you had hurted me
gutted my innocence even though
I’d let you.
i thought I was ready
(as baked spaghetti)
i wasn’t.
i guess it’s my fault though.
(idk how it’s just always my fault)
and when i had to let you go
cause you were heer her hurting me
i cried till 11:52 am.
im sorry

I think back to when it happened,
think back to that awful day.
The day when it all happened,
the day he took "it" away.

Fighting. Yelling. Crying.
It didn't matter how loud I screamed.
Nobody came to help me.
Nobody came to set me free.

I still dream of running,
of trying to break away.
Of feeling him catch me,
every **** day.

I see him in the shadows,
even while I'm at home.
I close my eyes and pray he's gone,
only then I can't help but feel him.

To this day I feel him,
his tight grip on my wrists,
The pressure of his body
as I tried to resist.

He continued to ****** away,
as I fought and yelled and cried.
It didn't matter how loud I screamed,
Nobody came to help me.
Nobody came to set me free.

Young hands fumbling
through inherent motions
with graceless inexperience.
He's never done it before.

Put on a
brave face
to mask
the panicked breathing.

Sweat rolling in waves
down an unwrinkled brow.
Heart thumping loud
to escape a hairless chest.

An adolescent
still wet
behind
the ears.

His body has outgrown
the blissful freedom
of childish naivety.
Ungainly limbs,
programmed to a new purpose,
usurp that serenity.
Silent expectation.

The time
has come.
He fires
his gun.

"You're a man now, son."

But he's learnt to **** a man,
before he's even so much as
kissed a girl.