by Evelyn Berry
Lord, I never know if you’re listening.
The last time I prayed, I’d taken enough
pills to miracle this river of blood
into forgotten hymn, seraphim-high.
Closed my eyes, pretended to hear your voice.
You sound like honey poured down empty throats,
too sweet to quench the thirst of the dying.
I have waited so long in gorgeous dark
for a spark that reminds me I’m alive.
I’ve never been talented at ghosting
this body. Pray, let my every breath
be litany — let me live, Lord, again.
Let me be like your darling Lazarus,
a lover worthy of resurrection.
::
Evelyn Berry is an angry, horny, sad, transsexual, Southern poet, performer, editor, and educator living in South Carolina. She’s the author of Grief Slut (Sundress Publications, 2024) and the chapbooks Buggery (Bateau Press, 2020) and T4T (Small Harbor Editions, 2026). She is the recipient of the National Endowment for the Arts Poetry Fellowship and South Carolina Arts Commission Individual Artist Fellowship for Poetry. She is the winner of the BOOM Chapbook Prize, Button Poetry Short Form Contest, Dr. Linda Veldheer Memorial Prize, KAKALAK Poetry Prize, Emrys Poetry Prize, Broad River Prize for Prose, and other honors. Her work has appeared in dozens of journals, including Beloit Poetry Journal, Raleigh Review, Moist Poetry Journal, Gigantic Sequins, Longleaf Review, Taco Bell Quarterly, and elsewhere. She lives in Columbia, SC, with her wife and girlfriend.
Image: NITISH GOSWAMI
ID: A hand in pink and red lighting with purple and blue shadows.
Psaltery & Lyre 