By Johanna Costigan
But the birds liked Jesus. His nice girlfriend told us. Her eyes, like darts from a wooden globe,
fell the way shoulders relax. Try her homemade Crucifix Eucharist. Just 0.88 calories per Host.
In the kitchen, Jesus’ thigh fat was set to work. Can we assume that a typical communion wafer
is equivalent to a Ritz cracker? Mary M. approached the altar.
“Let us pray,” she said. “I will be the Messiah tonight. You succumb to the tile gaze. Opus
sectile on the church floor, a fish-eating fish. Like a bored boy in Church, staring down at the
ground. Silent treatment is effective in mice. Other mazes start catching fire. I was floating,
smiling at my waterboy crush. As hot on Earth as He is in Heaven. Our ship rocked. The tour
guide tripped. Thank God I could sail the boat.”
JOHANNA COSTIGAN is a journalist and poet from New York currently pursuing an MSc in Contemporary Chinese Studies at Oxford. Her poetry has been published in outlets including Literary Shanghai's Alluvium, Typishly, and Oxford's Figure of Speech.