Holly Iglesias writes a kickass prose poem! Here is one of her many delightful offerings.
The Day I Was
Radioactive at Mass, I sat behind a young man who exhibited symptoms of acute devotionalism—bowing at the waist at each utterance of the word Jesus, kneeling on the stone floor, tap-tap- tapping his chest, raising his arms, palms up. The doctor had warned me to stay at least six feet away from other people for two days and to use disposable utensils and plates and to not have sex and to not get close to pregnant women and to not sleep in the same bed as children for a week. As we finished the Our Father, it struck me that I should not shake the man’s hand, nor that of the woman down the pew from me who had re-arranged the contents of her purse during the Kyrie. Nor did I want to say, Sorry, I’m radioactive. What a pity I had no asbestos glove to serve as a barrier so that I could extend my hand in earnest and say, Peace be with you. But the man did not turn around to face me, and the woman did not look up from her missal, so I wrapped my arms around myself instead, an embrace to limit the isotope’s range and to keep the fearful parts of me from flying out.
You can read more of Holly’s prose poems here:
https://www.holeintheheadreview.com/txtv1i4-1/holly-iglesias
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Author: Denise Duhamel
