perhappened mag
issue 15: DISGUISE
a portrait of two girls as a
blasphemy of the crucifixion
MARTA ŠPOLJAR
if i listen carefully i hear my own laughter
as you shove an orange whole into your mouth —
we are fifteen and spring is just starting, my fingers
on your camera, you laughing on the floor.
your dad found the photos eventually, said
we were doing drugs — if i listen carefully
i hear us doing drugs, same place, different date.
your pants, unbuttoned around my waist,
your medication ground up in liquor,
bare floors under cold feet, blood
dripping from ankles we shaved while high.
if i think hard, i think now, i smell decay,
the two of us, wilting, unpressed, flowered
overpowering: you think my scars look cool,
i think i want you, but never when i'm sober.
we share a bed, kiss on the mouth, i confuse
resurrection and betrayal. i make you cover
every picture of jesus up, pretend god can
no longer see us — if i listen carefully
i taste you licking rigor mortis off my tongue,
i taste rot, i taste it sucked away. i taste us
embalmed into adults that haven’t spoken in a
year, still eat oranges the way you taught me to,
still fear your dad uncovering his saviour. do you think
jesus watched from those paintings, still, ashamed
he had chosen martyrdom over this? do you think
he regretted rising from his grave, regretted
letting angels roll away that stone, missed
being a body that ripened in that darkness,
missed the joy of growing bad to eat?
as you shove an orange whole into your mouth —
we are fifteen and spring is just starting, my fingers
on your camera, you laughing on the floor.
your dad found the photos eventually, said
we were doing drugs — if i listen carefully
i hear us doing drugs, same place, different date.
your pants, unbuttoned around my waist,
your medication ground up in liquor,
bare floors under cold feet, blood
dripping from ankles we shaved while high.
if i think hard, i think now, i smell decay,
the two of us, wilting, unpressed, flowered
overpowering: you think my scars look cool,
i think i want you, but never when i'm sober.
we share a bed, kiss on the mouth, i confuse
resurrection and betrayal. i make you cover
every picture of jesus up, pretend god can
no longer see us — if i listen carefully
i taste you licking rigor mortis off my tongue,
i taste rot, i taste it sucked away. i taste us
embalmed into adults that haven’t spoken in a
year, still eat oranges the way you taught me to,
still fear your dad uncovering his saviour. do you think
jesus watched from those paintings, still, ashamed
he had chosen martyrdom over this? do you think
he regretted rising from his grave, regretted
letting angels roll away that stone, missed
being a body that ripened in that darkness,
missed the joy of growing bad to eat?
Marta Špoljar is an assistant editor at The Wondrous Real Magazine, with works seen in Pollux Journal, Not Deer Magazine and Journal of Erato. Words she cannot put into poetry she tweets from @shhhhhpoljar.