and i’m not American yet he’ll have to wait for my fist to fall from his mother’s red dress

a prayer is when you lose

white boy

hovering across the room

a beer

(warm and tasting like coke)

in one hand

with an ax in the other

whistles in the air

come towards me

on your hands and knees

won’t you drop that?

my hand rest around his neck

he’s scared of walking backwards

so cut the engine

so walk in the fog

and i’m not American yet

he’ll have to wait

for my fist to fall from his mother’s red dress

i can see through your flesh,

wet and waiting for me to sew you up

we’re surrounded now

and i’m on my knees

but who am i to lie to god?

Keira Armstrong, a young author and poet, is the founder of Verum Literary Press and a staff contributor at Cloudy Magazine. Their work has been published or is forthcoming in Healthline Zine, Eggplant Tears, Sage Cigarettes, Scran Press as well as local New Orleans magazines. You can find them @keira_armst1 on Instagram and Twitter.

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and i’m not American yet he’ll have to wait for my fist to fall from his mother’s red dress

and i’m not American yet he’ll have to wait for my fist to fall from his mother’s red dress and i’m not American yet he’ll have to wait for my fist to fall from his mother’s red dress

a prayer is when you lose

and i’m not American yet he’ll have to wait for my fist to fall from his mother’s red dress