I’m thinking how water’s the only element that loves a body –
can hold and be inside it at the same time
when the man appears
and maybe it’s because of how I’m slumped on the bench
messaging you
my legs a little too wide apart
but he tells me how he fell in love with Jesus
and he simpers a little, hands clasped,
as he describes how we’ll all be raptured
and he even does a little trumpet sound: ‘do-DOO!’
before he begins to pray over me
and I feel my legs creep shut as he talks about
the corrupted bodies in their graves
and how we’ll swap them for brand new ones.
Liquefaction, I think, putrefaction, dis-comp-o-si-tion,
as he talks about how we’ll all be Christ’s brides
and this queer heaven doesn’t sound too bad
except we’d all have to share one white guy
so I tell him if the rapture’s coming
I’ve some things to get done,
and off I scurry, his flutey voice
still lapping my back.
And even though the moment’s wrecked
I find
he hasn’t dammed the river
that you’ve sprung in me –
the only part still holding out against it
is my lungs.