Sara Quinn Rivara

Sara Quinn Rivara's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in 32 Poems Magazine, Crab Orchard Review, Bluestem, Blackbird, Literary Mama and Cream City Review. She holds an M.F.A. from Warren Wilson College and chairs the English department at Kalamazoo Valley Community College. She lives in Michigan with her son, Jonah.

Bible Study

Behind the Red Lobster, the sky leveled off into lake: static
from the radio. Late model Pontiac Body glitter. Hade's hot
hand on my thigh. Why not, Lenten Rose? he cried. How high
Orion leaped above the waves! Something burned, something
trembled between us: was me at once, singing. No, was
the cotton shirt tearing. No, was the tampon flung
in the sand. No. Was his hand. You blood-star, you
earthworm heart! It tore me apart. Except for stars, I was
lost. A swallow sipped my cup of trembling and the Pleiades
hung their shirts on his nail. Hell, I licked willingly; I kicked
out the windows and yelled. Scaffolded my skin against
his tree. I, small girl, got laid. Him—my salvaged wreck, my salted blade—