How to Show Gram She’s Wrong

          If only she could see
          Us now—all legs and

          Sweat and panting.
          The three of us,

          Sprawling like an
          Old southern drawl

          Over the sheets—
          White and spotless in

          A past life, now
          Yellowed and

          Stinking with the
          Scent of desperate

          Lips on throats and
          Thighs and tits,

          Hungry. All purified with
          Moans of sacrament and

          A triad’s troth breathed
          As prayer to any deity

          Willing to listen—
          Lilith, Inanna, Min,

          Anteros, Lofn, Bes,
          Pothos, Nanaya, Eros—our

          Pantheon. And while
          We lay smothered in

          The thickness of the
          Moment, I think

          :You are too fat to love.

Abnukta Lilitu

          Mother,
          Collect your sister.

          She is lost,
          Biting apples and

          Submitting to the
          Wrath of Old Testament

          Gods, who seek her
          Submission and access to

          Her sacred center.
          Mother,

          Show her the way
          To her own liberation and

          Her sanctification.
          Show her

          Choice and show her
          Pleasure. Teach

          Her refusal to lie
          Under a man and

          To paint your sigil
          Over her womb. Mother,

          Let her taste the saccharine
          Sweetness of the

          Demonic dew between your
          Thighs and watch the

          Way your children
          Dance on the pyres of their

          Fathers—human,
          Angelic, infernal. Mother,


Alexandra Savage is a novelist and emerging poet with a BA in creative writing from the University of Central Oklahoma. Her poetry tends to focus on the reality of navigating life as a fat, queer femme and acts as an indictment of social constructions.
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