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Self-Portrait as the Things
We Put Inside Us

This poem was originally published as an award poem in 2022 in Plainsongs (Volume 42, Issue 1).

Unremarkable as he was

I remember his wife

was on her third baby

of Biblical sobriquet

in as many years

and he was pulling out

his demerit book

because of a fifteen year old girl's

Old Navy shorts. Then our messiah,

 

whip-smart, tampon pulled out

of a pencil bag and cast across

the classroom like money changers’

tables in the temple courts

like a Pharisee trying to get in

to the kingdom of Heaven

and I said thank you Jesus

thank you for dying

so we could live

 

to see a grown man forget

to punish a girl for having legs

due to the irreverent revelation

of a swathed cylinder of cotton

leaping and genuflecting

before his lectern. But of course

this poem isn’t about tampons

or my mom making me

a truant on days they paraded

 

anti-Planned Parenthood pregnancy

propaganda or the columnist-

evangelist youth group leader decrying birth

control as “an abortion every day.”

Please God, not another

poem about falling out of feeling with the church

the bride of Christ, the only woman

I was ever trained to love.

More about my bewitching

 

bath tonight: salts, suds, goji

Tarocco orange. Between pages

of Ross Gay and the satin breaths of

ASMR, I feed myself pasta

salad, noodle by noodle

like old royalty, like new woman

like God herself incarnate.

© Riley O'Connell 2025

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