By Hannah Mills

She says, a hot Cheeto and diet coke.
In your church I’d shake ass on the altar.
It’s funny and so serious if
all you had left of a person
was something to consume
to remember them by

The chalice with grape wine
grossed me out everyone’s lips
on the same cup
the old ladies letting you
sip just enough

and the Body of Christ was dry
a tasteless cracker that wasn’t
allowed to touch the floor
until that one time it did
and to everyone’s horror
I picked it up ate it off the floor

what would my body and blood
be if they weren’t me?
they’d be buried under a tree

if someone had to consume me
I’d be savory, lovely, ecstasy

narrow me down to tingling
on your tongue
Communion everyday

take me back to that
first time with the grape
wine and shake
that girl awake inside

By Willa Killion

The cabin porch is adorned with

Half-promises to return, none of us know

What the future might hold.

Fourth grade, fifth grade, graduation

Different lives in different places together

Painting our nails with shining stars,

Dripping the swirling blues on the wood grain.

She doesn’t want to go, she says.

Leaving’s the worst part of connection, she sees,

And we’re connected, carer and cared for

Watcher and watched over,

Siblings, almost, for a week

Or two

Or eight.

Yet days ago she sobbed

In this very place

Begging, pleading, just to leave.

She wants to go home, she cried

About loneliness in the face of her sister

And friends

And promises from others that it would work out.

That her one week would become two

Or more

In the years to come.

So we looked at floppy old picture books,

Talked about adventurers journeying through forests,

Drew ourselves as colorful animals,

Decorated our hair and nails with vibrant color,

And made peace with the place

Surrounded by trees and ferns,

Paint stains and fallen beads,

Chipmunks chattering overhead

In the lichen and firs.

So we live our bright moment together

And keep going.