Holy City
Howie Good

1

We lived in a city famous for its ruins. The sky was the same color as the glass heart of an abandoned bride. I asked what the color was called. Gazelle's blood, someone said.

2

The ancients wrote poetry about blood and pus, rules for living a holy life, such as when and who you could fuck. Newborns twitched all around their feet like poisoned mice.

3

She talked about the incident with the jellyfish. I put a finger to my lips. The taxi continued climbing the sharp hill that led to all the years ahead.

4

Some prefer the sea. She turned to look behind her. A pink rose was machine-embroidered on the back of her backpack. The nation mourned.

5

Out here the light is different -- a sprinkle of holy water under a sky made of ice.

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