on the Sabbath day:
he’s bonny and blithe
and full of grace

his steps made of sun,
he stands through the night
thoughts go unsaid
but twist in his smile

there’s no error, no rust,
no folds in the sleeve just paste
skies and free time, the boredom
of Eve

God in his pocket but
air in his eyes which
turned red the first day
he sent men to die

he was pin cushioned, hand-holed
the prophet himself, fell graceless
and puppet, died chest-laughing
drunk

his name (light) was lost
through the fence in the orange
on the last stair to heaven
he fumbled his words

no angels stood waiting
no higher no hell just concrete
and vinegar, a Death
he named Self.

Virginia Laurie is an undergraduate student at Washington and Lee University whose work has been accepted and/or published in Tiny Seed Literary Journal, The Merrimack Review, LandLocked and Girls Right the World.