By Robin Gow

come & take off your face.
my o my you could be a good
telephone. do you carry your head
like a purse? does your wallet
open like a bleating lamb?
sometimes i stare out
at the cars & i think
“all of these people in their
sheepskin coats.” call this number
& find me on the other side of the line.
jesus speaking in bird calls. jesus
speaking in credit card numbers.
a tithe is required to be saved.
so is a sacrifice. what of your life
are you willing to drive eight more hours towards?
rubber & road. i once was
a motorcycle. then, in the morning
flocks of geese. i have seen people
pull over & weep. i have seen
my face as a bumper sticker.
no one knows anything
about worship, do they? to worship
is to fill yourself with firewood
& go looking hungrily for the match.
it is not enough to beg. you must also
stop at the gas station
& convert the clerk into a believer.
trust me when i tell you
i see a dart board in you. if you are
not careful you will spend your life
against the wall falling in love
with missiles. jesus is talking about
natural disasters. about tornado warnings
& the instructions that float like veils.
i see thousands a day & not one was
like you. take the steering wheel
& toss it into the gasping woods.
i am ready for you. for each
of your knocking bones
& for all of your tongues that journey
like worms the morning after
a drenching rain. i am asking you
are you tired of fighting?
i am your only way home.

Robin Gow is a trans poet and witch from rural Pennsylvania. It is the author of several poetry books, an essay collection, YA, and Middle-Grade novels in verse, including Dear Mothman and A Million Quiet Revolutions. Gow’s poetry has recently been published in POETRY, Southampton Review, and New Delta Review. Fae lives in Allentown, Pennsylvania with their queer family.