The three hairs on each corner of her prayer lips
have never been kissed by anyone but Jesus,
and he didn’t stop the plucking of her brows,
sparse branch above a green-shadowed lid, or the kiwi
Lip Smackers, benediction to the mouth.
But Jesus had things to say about the glitter
and the v-neck tee with the lily
of her breasts barely a valley.
Her voice was the valley, no,
it was a canyon, deep sloped donkey ride
into an abyss of gospel angst.
Jesus had things to say about angst. Jesus had things
to say about her new red thong
and the boyfriend who wanted to see it.
Diannely Antigua is a Dominican-American poet and MFA candidate at NYU. Her work appears or is forthcoming in BOAAT Press, Rust + Moth, Potluck Mag, Big Bell, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal. Her favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice is Chubby Hubby. She lives in Brooklyn with three poet roommates.