Tag: atheist

Poem: i am

i am (by Veronica McDonald)

i am meat
wrapped in baby doll plastic
laid down on the slab.
i name me “Jane”
paint bright red lipstick on my lips.
Don’t stop there.
Why be so predictable?
i draw the lipstick down
the curve of my chin
onto my chest
draw a large bleeding heart
between breasts that are too small
so i label them “MUSCLE.”
The plastic almost feels like skin
it bounces back under my fingers —
too perfect — so i scratch it
then cover the marks
in “Soft Honey” foundation.
i get bored
so i name me “Fred.”
i spell it “FREED” in bold black letters
stitched into my abdomen
with a broken needle.
i cut off my long brown hair and glue it
under my nose, like a mustache.
i leave the lipstick.
It makes Fred unique
a creature rarely seen.
i pierce his body
with transgressions;
a few earrings first
then a tongue cheek nipple throat-ring.
The beauty and uniqueness are almost
complete.
He looks feminine —
whatever that means —
so i name him “Jane.”
i give her red contacts
to match the lips under her mustache
bleach what’s left of her hair
until the smell burns
and the hair has lost all
naturalness —
whatever that means.
This is my body
it was made in my image
it reflects
nothing
deeper than existence
it is my birthright
my machine.
The meat inside begins to rot
the juice leaks from somewhere
onto the slab.
i polish the skin
spray it with $500 perfume
maybe it’s Chanel
maybe it’s made from the sweat
of starving children—
i don’t care.
Eat drink for tomorrow we die.
i’m so beautiful i could cry.
so i do.
brown-red tears pour down my cheeks
and i can hardly smell it
anymore

Photo credit: “Smarra” by Tony Johannot (Public Domain)

Short Story (Fiction): Damascus

Damascus

by Veronica McDonald

I once had a dog named Damascus. I don’t know for sure why Dad named him Damascus. I especially didn’t know when I was a five-year-old, squawking kid who was constantly picking his nose and sometimes eating what he finds (you can’t trust what that kid knows, trust me). But now that I’m older and all and educated by some standard—at least thirteen years more educated than that pathetic kid—I would guess that Dad named him Damascus on account of his “road to Damascus” experience. Dad’s experience, not the dog’s.

I guess Dad was some kind of brilliant atheist once, before he fell for my pure-as-vanilla Christian mother and had some kind of religious “awakening;” Some radical, open-your-blind-eyes kind of thing. Except when he explained it to me, it didn’t sound all that radical. Not like the way it happened to Paul the Apostle, where a blinding light of God Almighty tells you point-blank He exists and, now that you know…you know…go do something important with that information. Naw, not at all like that. The way he tells it, he fell head over heels for this Christian girl, even though he thought all Christians were dumb. And when he took her out to dinner he had a whole spiel ready about how the cosmos were all there is and ever was and ever would be. But she looked so calm, so happy, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And while his guard was down, she said something to him so simple—too simple really—that I didn’t believe it when he told me. Continue reading “Short Story (Fiction): Damascus” →