Bowl of Cheetos Holy
BY CLAUDIA CORTESE
This is how I pray—in a blue square of light
I bow my head over a bowl of Cheetos.
And this is how I am good—I watch dad
demand mom bring the salt the pepper
the San Pellegrino the bowl of steamed broccoli
the cheddar that she wash his socks his coffee-stained
suit jacket as he tells her you wouldn’t understand
you never listen don’t interrupt me
and I hear what he says but doesn’t say—
you’re stupid you’re stupid you’re stupid,
and I don’t say anything, I study harder
and eat Oreos and feel sugary relief
glistening like snow down my intestines,
and when the cicadas or locusts or whatever
buzzes in the leaves fills my room
I weigh myself and punch my thigh—
I fog the window with my breath, write
the world is too much with us
and watch words dissolve, reveal
the oaks’ green teeth.