c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art


SELF PORTRAIT by Allyson Seconds

SELF PORTRAIT by Allyson Seconds

by Gale Acuff

I could die at any time. Miss Hooker
says so. She's my Sunday School teacher so
she should know, she knows the straight dope about
God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost, and
Bible stories to boot. I flunked third grade
last year but here we don't have any tests
— all I have to do is believe that God
sent His Son down here to die for us and
believe in Him, Jesus I mean, though I
need to believe in God, too, of course, and
if I don't sin, at least not on purpose,
I get to go to Heaven when I die
and I can't wait but I can't snuff myself
because that's a sin. Jesus took His life
but that's different — God planned it that way

and how. What they did was crucify Him,
Jesus I mean, but good. He died and rose
and lives in Heaven with the angels. That
must be sweet. I don't want to die but I
have to, but I also want to but don't
have to, not really, not for keeps — my soul
will leave my body behind to rot but
I'll get a new one in Heaven, and fly
and sing, and learn to play the harp, and it's

a pretty good life, being dead. Sometimes
I wish I'd never been born, just to save
God all that trouble. But it's too late now.

BEDROOM CLOSET DOOR by Allyson Seconds

BEDROOM CLOSET DOOR by Allyson Seconds

by David Thornbrugh

We never know we are living
the best years of our lives
until they’re memories,
rows and rows of silver warbirds
packed in supermarket aisles
so we’re forced to pole vault them
on our crutches to reach the mangoes.
Starvation lengthens life but who
would trade a Florida of mole skin
for the lost baby’s buttons of
teenage trampolines? Climbing Vesuvius,
I tripped over Betty and Veronica’s
thumb-stiff nipples and sprawled
across the moon. There is in Australia
a marsupial mouse that leads a
brief life of fucking twelve hours
a day for two weeks then dying
of glandular failure, dragging its tiny, shriveled
penis through the mud. I have been
biologically blocked from any similarly
spectacular stupidities, though not for want
of trying, not for lack of envy.

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