Blackbirds sit
on a telephone line like
a string of beads. I stand on the
corner of 18th and Valencia. A
small woman covers the
clothing hanging
on a chain link fence: two
sweaters, a velvet coat,
a floral dress— with
a tarp. She doesn’t
hide from the rain. Neither
do I. Water
runs down my nose
over my lips
into my mouth.
I am kissing god with
tongue.
I have never owned a rosary
but I count: cars, black umbrellas,
my wet fingers, every time I swallow—
I touch my mouth
my chest
my damp shoulders, one after
the other.
The birds are so still—
dripping. I am only catholic
when it rains in the mission, when
I feel like I could fuck god— bear
a child of divine sin. I want to tug
on his
rosary. Kiss his chin. Hold
him. Tell him a story about
a king
and a blackbird pie.
BAYLEY VAN is a young freelance writer and illustrator living in San Francisco, California. Her work explores instability through nature and interpersonal relationships. She has been previously published in Synchronized Chaos, Umlaut, Em, Aryis, Calamus Journal, and Golden Walkman Magazine. Inquiries about writing, illustrations and upcoming publications may be sent to bayleyvn@gmail.com.