1. Ghost Nun
    Ghost Nun
    By Allison Rothrock
Saints were human once too, 
praying in Latin, singing in Greek, 
aching in languages so old that even the Earth no longer remembers. 
The ocean calls them proclaimers, dripping with Heaven’s glow,  
prayers floating like feathers past their fingers,  
mouths filled with white petals and ocean spray. 
They had never thought that devotion would be so sweet, 
as they fell on their knees, 
the weight of holiness too much for their crooked spine. 
But martyrs are nothing but back-alley angels, 
recycling prayers like plastic bottles,  
wishing for their wings to melt away like Icarus’ once did, 
death breathing burning kisses against his skin. 
They can feel something beating in their bones, 
their body tired from the weight of mortality, 
sick of the promises they made to man that they hadn’t seen. 
Promises, promises. 
Trying to make gods out of hollow corpses, 
maybe they’ll once be in a constellation in their image, 
galaxies named after them, eternal life reached with a bloodstained soul 
and fear trapped like a crow within them, ink-stained and porous-boned. 
Such a living weight that wants to shred skin and leave for a blue sky. 
The ocean calls them proclaimers,  
holiness living deep within, 
like a rose blooming from them. 
They forgot about the thorns.