Mckendy Fils-Aime


i like to pretend there is a Jesus
who died for my poor posture,
a sort of twerk messiah

& that he is the reason we gather
here on weekends.

it is sunday morning, technically
& someone's booty is a wrecking ball
breaking down the wall of bodies
surrounding this congregation.

we are all looking for someone
to call home or God.

under the strobe light, she is salt
but not pillar. sweat glistening down her
face when she looks back & stares at me.
& i can't help but want her

to show me how to unleash myself
in this strange church, to preach
from the DJ Booth the gospel
of club anthem. up until now i've only

managed a dirty horse stance:
back arched, legs sort of low.
i'm still whispering the steps
from the How To video:

okay, remember the key is to move
your hips back & forth:
                              one, two, three, four
                              one, two, three, four

i wonder if the Romans felt this
inadequate when they crucified Jesus
only to watch him come back

like a week before he wasn't wearing
the fresh accessory of stigmata

we all want to be that kind of unstoppable.

to look at life after it has hammered
all of its burdens into us & dare
to be to wherever we feel
like we are worth something.

& sometimes that place is here
where we are not ashamed
to pray with our legs spread apart
& knees bent, to let loose
the swing set of our hips & rock
& rock & rock until nothing is left unholy.

Mckendy Fils-Aime is a Haitian-American poet and educator living in Manchester, New Hampshire where he is a co-organizer for the wildly popular poetry reading, Slam Free or Die. He is a Callaloo Fellow whose work has appeared in The Journal, Atticus Review, Word Riot, Drunk In a Midnight Choir, and elsewhere. His first full-length collection is forthcoming from Small Doggies Press.

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