Elegy to the Pencil That Drew Veronica In

By Marlowe Ryan

Look at you, my cave companion

Look at you still admiring your work, scribbles in the margins of the Bible, writing a saint in, scoundrel then the only pages I’m not allowed to rip out for firewood

The cloth was school property

The charm, horrifyingly my own

They asked me to witness Mary twice

Be a monarch, silly girl. Marry the priest.

You knew when you saw your friend, the scissors stab me in their effort to shape me into a good Catholic girl, cutting and pasting Jesus onto an ornate dishrag

Was it worth it? Now you’re covered in teeth marks, blasphemy Just had to have a legacy, could they even trace your lead

Can they even distinguish my skin on his fingerprints or has he washed them in the wine, something Holy down their throats

Jesus must have had cabin fever too He must have spent those days wondering what Veronica would do with His image on her veil would she wear it in idolatry, the first horror movie maybe that’s what you saw in me

I’m the demon the kids draw in art class one of the other criminals, crucified at His side A lowly sinner, never baptized They made me Veronica to make me feel welcome giving me another part, another chance but I wouldn’t marry the priest

The fire dies out

I look at the Bible, spine protruding like a starved child like me then

You chose to be a martyr then, make a cross with a twig, and I will survive

I use your last words to cement your sacrifice and a promise, that I’ll resurrect you too when I come back to make them rue