portion of the artwork for Scarlett Peterson's poem

Scarlett Peterson

The father of the man I fucked in a tent full of people last night is holding a walking stick
              and wearing nothing but a purple sarong
as he zips and unzips the flap at the entryway to the smoke bath.

Juniper and cedarwood burn slowly in a red clay pot while a tan woman
              covered in glitter does yoga at the front of the room,
her body bends backward, a horehound candy ribbon within reach.

I want a softer tongue, the kind that doesn’t sing a wren’s song,
              I want to be a woman that freely bends, a woman with palms facing the sky or the top of
this gray tent, my eyes open only often enough to drink in the room.

I close my eyes and sit in God’s lap, whisper into his ear;
              carve me a new lover from cedarwood, give him sage hair and
all of the energy you can spare

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 51 | Spring/Summer 2018