Anna Kuehne Astray

Astray by Anna Kuehne

What do you see, father?

Do you see the demons swindle me with lurching arms, smothering me with poignant wisdoms?

Do they jest with grins stretched wide as they take turns chewing my bottom lip?

Are you anxious as their honeyed tongues scrape my flesh, or how their fingers riffle through my golden curls, taut the blessed threads into tangled nests?

Do your eyes search for the Virgin as they coax my thighs, cooing me to an unholy epiphany? Are you terrified that I moan instead of scream? Do the incessant recitations touted through beads and booklets catch me as I slip through God’s fingers?

Are the angels chanting my sins in your head? Do they flay your failures on your back? Do they mock you with their soft chuckles, the phantom wings stinging your cheek as you beg God for my deliverance? Are you terrified that your lamb lost her way, or do you still lament your sorrows in litanies, impervious to the truth:

Liza Gutierrez is a senior. When she isn't writing, you can find her drawing elephants, painting, or (like an old lady) crocheting stuffed animals for her three younger siblings.