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      December 19, 2018Jesus Is My Flu ShotJackleen Holton

      I tried it once, the being saved,
      my devout older cousin standing
      before me on the steps of the city pool.
      She said, you can’t plug your nose,
      so I didn’t, and she dunked me, held me
      under for a long time because
      it has to hurt so He’ll know
      you’re ready to receive His grace.
      I spoke in garbled tongues, bubbles
      rising from me as I tried to catch
      her faith, felt the water enter
      me like a needle—
      the way it does now, the spout
      of the neti pot pressed to one nostril,
      a torrent of salt water
      blazing out the other one
      as I remember the straight line
      her mouth made, so intent
      was she on this ministry
      that it had to be love,
      the sun behind her aflame
      in the wavering sky above me.

      from #61 - Fall 2018

      Jackleen Holton

      “I write poems to gather my thoughts and make sense of things, though it rarely works that elegantly. More often than not, it comes from something like being down with the flu, and hearing from an evangelical leader that my condition would have been entirely preventable had I possessed the right brand of faith, which gets me thinking about faith, all the ways I’ve tried to catch it, and how those attempts have always felt a little bit like trying to breathe underwater.”

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