For Amy
Emilio's mother was long-practiced in the art of summoning a saint. For a burn, she'd appeal to the apostle John. It was John who got the call twice a day for a year when Emilio was
... [+]
my edges are hard
always snagging on the soft, soft world
my scars are triangles too
red where the cancer was cut out of me
it failed to kill me: I killed It
white where a sailboat's anchor
hit my instep
my eyes are triangles—they penetrate
my sex is a triangle—it penetrates
I'm a red triangle
and the triangle blade of my vocation
will be pried from my sinew-fingers
only when I'm cold
and free at last
in the great circle world.