In my dreams, when Jesus Christ places
thumb to fingertip around my wrist, he
reminds my body how repentance stings. It is
Fast Sunday most Sundays in his house. I embrace
dizzy moments in my morning shower,
poke around for stigmata hiding between my ribs.
Lately, my skin fuzzes like a peach.
I have a lover who eats at me, eagerly.
They say before I was born I, too, was as pure
as they come. After three days – sex and sacrament
and sex again – my stomach gnaws clean.
Soon, it will cease to matter whose hunger I’ve got.
I was born with a blood-red mole nestled in my left palm.
I swear it grows darker by the day.
Alissa Nalewajko is a student at Princeton University studying creative writing. She’s from Boise, Idaho, and loves to explore themes of persona and surrealism through her work. She has been previously published in Zeniada.