Make a cathedral of 2020 and
I’ll show up to confess
I didn’t vote in 2016. I’ve never
said that out loud. Fuck, I’ve never
said that to anyone. My penance
is to forgive myself, and
that will have to be enough.
Make a cathedral of 2020 and
I’ll recite my lamentations, I’ll
gather kneecap carpet imprints
at the altar. I will
participate in the liturgy of
community and drink in
remembrance of those we’ve lost.
Here is a sanctuary for sadness.
Here it is okay to feel betrayed.
Baptize me in humanity and
I’ll remind you what it means
to love your neighbor. Shit, I’ll
remind you what it means to
have a neighbor. Meet me
here, six feet away, and I will
ask you to help me raise hymns
to the Earth, to lay palms at her feet.
Make a cathedral of 2020 and
I’ll make
each act of defiance
a Holy sacrament.
***
Charlotte VanWerven lives in the pacific northwest and regularly conspires with the cloudy weather. Most of her inspiration comes from insomnia and weird shapes she finds in her bedroom ceiling. Her work has appeared in Into the Void, Eastern Iowa Review, Gold Man Review, The Helix, Columbia College Literary Review, and others. Twitter: twitter.com/CVanWerven Instagram: instagram.com/charlotte_vanwerven
***
image: Alan Tenhoeve
Rejection Letters 