by Eugenia Leigh
Jesus said, Do not worry about your life,
what you will eat or drink. Or about your body,
what you will wear. So you cleared
your cupboards. Lay naked on the shelf
where I found you. I mistook you
for a loaf I had prayed for. You let me
take you in my mouth and I binged
on your flesh. Both of us—unaware—
we should have prayed for love
instead of crumbs. —Still now, small
morsels of you on my tongue.
About the Author:
Eugenia Leigh is a Korean American poet and Kundiman fellow who holds an MFA in Poetry from Sarah Lawrence College. Her poetry manuscript was a finalist for the 2011 National Poetry Series, and her poems have appeared in North American Review, The Collagist, Lantern Review and PANK Magazine, among other publications. Born in Chicago and raised in Los Angeles, Eugenia currently lives in Brooklyn, New York.