Redeemer (I)

I’m often accused of
having a “Jesus complex,”
full of sighs for bearded men,
chestnut locks, sharp cheeks–
these men, they glow,
they speak Brueghel
and Eakins,
feast on women like
honey-dipped figs.
Perhaps it’s Catholic guilt,
times when I didn’t
stand arrow straight
on knees staring
up into waxen eyes
protesting a sip
from his chalice.


IMG_20150626_203741-1Tiffany Tavella will trade a humble turn of phrase for a cup of coffee and an open ear. Her work can be found in journals both in print and online, but she hides her chapbooks in used book stores and free libraries. She lives and writes in Philadelphia.

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