After Eduardo C. Corral’s  Ceremonial, for the Day 18 prompt.
—
Here I am lord,
crouched behind the door
of this sanctuary,
wedding dress
crammed into a closet,
clenched fist
clutching a rosary
hoping the bite
of its ragged edges
will bring absolution
for this fleeing.
Like a dream hovering
just beyond the reach
of remembering
the taste of sugared
rancid sweat lingers.
This war within, between
the ghosts of things
once thought and things
now heard rages.
These thick thighs and belly fat
belie the assignation of beauty.
Prayer cannot assuage
this tumult, this self flagellation.
I pinch and pull, cry myself hoarse
In deliruim.