
The Hidden Fist
Your right hand squeezes,
hoping to milk blood
from the stones of our body.
In its grip, you resurrect
an age of tailfins and lunar discovery,
but you also manifest
the unholiest of sins,
a generation of blind eyes
and cancerous banks.
Consider how many of us descend
to take communion at your altar rail.
Offer us your compassionate bread
and a chalice of wine
fermented from your tears.
With a single snap of your fingers,
we will beat our wings to help
rebuild your temples.
Cradle us
———— in your left hand.

Joshua Gage (he/him/his) is an ornery curmudgeon from Cleveland. His newest chapbook, blips on a screen, is available on Cuttlefish Books. He is a graduate of the Low Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at Naropa University. He has a penchant for Pendleton shirts, Ethiopian coffee, and any poem strong enough to yank the breath out of his lungs. Follow him @pottygok.




