Stephanie Feeney
I was born in Louisiana, and raised in Texas. My poems have been published by The Poetry Review, Ink Sweat & Tears, and anthologised by Fish Publishing. I grew up in a family of fishermen, musicians and drinkers, and still dabble in all three. These days, I call Suffolk home. This poem is from my debut collection, SMALL CHANGE, out next year with Broken Sleep Books.Â
CHURCH SHIT
He lifts you in his arms as high as he can lift you,
lets you try your voice against the vastness,
glossolalia rising, lets you reach your restless
fingers up as if to tickle Jesus on the cross.
It’s then you shit yourself beyond all capability
of your diaper to hold it in, an up-the-back,
ascension-aspiring, wonder of a shit,
stink trailing down his forearms as he moves to cup
you to his belly like a woodlouse shrinking
from the world. You curl, content in the ruin
of his shirt. I guess that’s where love lives,
a dirty, folded, selfless place.
Why else would I want to kiss him,
more than ever, now?
Stephanie Feeney