in the hot afternoon

by Haley DiRenzo

At a summer church wedding, having not 

worshipped in years, having watched 

the last glimmered prayers warble-cry 

and collapse unanswered,

my hands long to hold something 

love drenched and taffeyed pink. 

To be pulled apart while still clinging by a thread 

and a thread. 

Fan sermon pamphlets 

over sweat-beaded shoulders.

Bare necks. Dark wood creaking beneath,

I let the communion take me. 

Tongue pressed hard 

to paper thin wafer

roof of mouth. Soaked

in sweet wine and swallow.

Memory knots up like a clot 

in my calf muscle.

Not unlike times I performed

pleasure for someone else.  

Building and building and longing and aching 

for a rapture I was promised

that never came.   

Haley DiRenzo is a Colorado writer and practicing attorney specializing in eviction defense. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in January House, Thimble, Gone Lawn, and Ink in Thirds, among others, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. Outside of work and writing, you can find her browsing in bookshops, drinking tea, and watching movies and live performance in the theater. BlueSky: @haleydirenzo.bsky.social. Instagram: @haleydirenzo