Grace, defined
i.
I am spineless, stiff-armed,
coveting guilt. I know
my own hands. They’re soaked
with ichor, viscous
from attempted mercy.
Saccharine stain nauseating
in wake of a foreign economy.
My slitted sinew unravels.
Oh, nods mercy, It will be hemmed.
ii.
Slander slices a carving
knife into blood orange
and seeps. You peeled
instead of mourning,
citric carcass rested gently
on the sill. Wedge to lips, now
take, sip the nectar.
iii.
Cross-examined, then consoled:
We’ll have nothing more to do with that.
Caroline Liberatore is a former English student and future librarian. She has also been published in Ashbelt Journal, Ekstasis Magazine, Foreshadow Magazine, and Clayjar Review. You can read more of her work at carolinelib.wordpress.com.
Amethyst Review 