I’m an acolyte of the corn fields. Baby, if you fall in love
with me, you will have to convert. My family only knows
songs of assimilation, of Catholicism and her hungry
bloody mouth. It is our nature to settle, to swamp.
Follow me home like a dog who doesn’t know any better;
I will never admonish you for the dead bird in your maw.
Follow me like a fisherman in want of deep water.
Follow me like a God in want of an endless sinner.
Early Catholics held Mass in the catacombs,
and those tunnels never closed, oh baby,
let's buy a place down there and make it our home.
We’ll sleep in on Sundays, we’ll sit and stay.
Come on, baby. I want the long driveway, the two-car
garage, some kids and some beasts, all the trappings
of an altar to us, piss-drunk in the backyard
with lighter fluid and fire, our backs bursting feathers,
hawk-spawn, grim fangs, oh baby, let’s build a tomb
and get around to this good honest business of dying.
Kimberly Ramos is a queer Filipina writer from southern Missouri. Currently they are studying philosophy, whatever that means. They dream of becoming a cryptid and haunting the Midwest.