Monday Night Prayer

April 20, 2019



Monday Night Prayer

by Kristin Ryan


Through the streets
her head swirls
black thoughts:
a ruptured throat,
the bottom
of a riverbed.

She smells like partially
digested lettuce,
black coffee, bile.

She slips into the chapel,
last seat, last row.

Years later, she wakes up in her bed,
rotten scent of truth in her throat.
Runs fingers over ribcage,
over scars, tangled hair.

Empty bottles of Listerine
hidden in the trash.




Kristin Ryan is a poet working towards healing, and full sleeves of tattoos. She is a recipient of the Nancy D. Hargrove Editor's Prize in Poetry, was listed as a Write Bloody Finalist, and has been nominated for Best New Poets. Her poems have been featured in Glass, Jabberwock Review, Milk and Beans, among others. She holds an MFA from Ashland University and works in the mental health field. She tweets @kristinwrites


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