by Jeri Theriault


by Jeri Theriault

When the devil said don’t eat

we feasted. When he said

do whatever I tell you

we laughed and watched otters

in winter weather. Overfed

on novellas and sit-coms

we searched our closets

for songs and leftover

coats. Everything was ripe

for our flesh. We romped

in our First Communion

clothes and wore our sweat

proudly  while our mothers

bade us drink nothing but

water. We gathered feathers.

This was no time to be

grounded. We prayed Our Mother

Who Art this Earth and declared

the women in the street

holy. The devil spoke again:

there are too many of you.

We kept eating and seeking

and burning.