Harriet Paints the Churching of Women

The things that she would call sacred: the yellowed morning
behind bottle glass windows; the hair swept back, away
from the mouth. The candle wax pooling in their hands.
She wants to hammer their thanksgiving into the sacristy wall.

The priest extends a small piece of bread, unleavened,
over the railing. There are no children. There are no survivals
below the waist, skirts dimming, draped and still. A verb
becomes a noun becomes a body becomes a smooth, curved stone.

Hannah Kroonblawd is a student in the English Studies PhD program at Illinois State University, where she works in the Publications Unit and teaches creative writing. A graduate of the MFA program at Oregon State University, her recent work can be found in Washington Square Review, Blue Earth Review, Radar Poetry, Ruminate, and the South Dakota Review, among others.