EASTER

January 5, 2021

D. R. Shipp

The day is all ham. Your sister, the cardboard

heiress, macramé hair holding her head

like a pot. Your colorless uncle in his climate

resistant pants. All day long, they want to kill

the flowers. Your body blooming, you carry shame

in checkered mitts. It is two o’clock. Ham

and two o’clock and they won’t stop

ladling verse you can’t fit in your mouth. Hate in a halo.

Tell me. You are the blue egg of spring. A robin

perched on god’s angry knucklebone. Tell me

because you are the holy chalice, sacred

as your hand against my shoulders, grieving the child

that wasn’t. Tell me about the tomb within

the body. About words amongst the dead.

from Issue 31.2

D. R. SHIPP, originally from Texas, is an observer finding his way. A poetry finalist in the Atlanta Review, Juxtaprose, Sycamore Review, Tinderbox Journal, his work can be found in Chaleur, New South, Cleaver Magazine, Sugar House Review and others. In 2019, he won approximately zero contests and did not complete a chapbook. He splits his time between now and then, traveling. He has a curious online following, instagram @shippwreckage.

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