Queer Poem-a-Day is a program from the Adult Services Department at the Library and may include adult language.
After Hieronymus Bosch
I have only ever left this planet once
in a billow of thistles
after snorting meth amphetamine
in an abandoned record store
in Hollywood, birds settling
into the windowsills.
A man whom I was engaged to
left me to take communion
with a Jesuit order in Ireland.
From Christ’s dress a thread spun itself
into the body of Adam
at his feet. From out of his palm
the translucent figure of Eve appeared.
I never heard from him again.
The salmon colored sky
eagerly held the night back
long enough for them
to recognize their flaws.
Copyright © 2020 by Ruben Quesada. Used with the permission of the author. The poem appeared in Mumber Magazine, Issue 2. Dec. 2020.