Bathroom Crucifix by Carolynn Kingyens

I remember the first time I touched a crucifix;
five years old, inside my grandmother’s powder-blue bathroom,
unaware of suffering and sacrifice,
unaware of the million and one ways
a sinner could torture a saint and still get away with it,
when I felt compelled to caress Christ’s hard, flexed veins
arched away from his shin bones, muscles, pretty feet.

The crucifix was nailed to the floral pattern wall,
above the light switch.

His eyes forever cast down,
staring at my grandmother’s personal things,
her nighttime rituals —
boxes of Polident,
rosary beads,
little jars of beauty cream,
and an old photo of her only son,
my father, forever a boy dressed for Holy Communion,
mimicking the face of innocence;
wedged securely inside the edge of the switch.



Carolynn Kingyens lives with her beautiful family in NYC. Her poems have been featured in Boxcar Poetry Journal, Glass Poetry Journal, Word Riot, The Potomac, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Across the Margin, and The Orange Room Review. Her poem, “Washing Dishes” was nominated for Best New Poets by Silenced Press.