by Megan Moss

there is a god in the rafters
i hear him scratching,
soft, persistent, like a holy mouse
he knows the soft rot of my faith
how i light candles only when i want fire
how i name silence a sermon
just so it has a name

my body is a tabernacle
cracked, lined in cobwebs
but still it sings
not in latin, not in tongues
but in blood pulses
and grief-thick breaths
the sacred lives here
between spine and shame

Megan Moss is a writer and poet from Kingston, Oklahoma. She has been published in The Madison Review and her university’s literary journal, Originals. Megan is currently a senior at East Central University in Ada, Oklahoma, majoring in English.