The Gods Came
and the missions replaced the rice paddies.
their arms were slathered in molasses to mask the acrid blood
they’d smear across our lips.
we drank until laughter bubbled from our mouths,
tearing our throats into cavities from which to take.
the gods wore modest, white cotton and tore apart fresh mutton
with their bare hands. blood seeped into the fabric
but we were blind. they had already taken our eyes by then,
leaving milky hollows in their wake.
they told us esh tastes sweet and brought this to our mouths, too.
blood blended with the pigment of our tongues.
this was a fate we could not escape; the gods painted our nation red
and called it our doing, called us bloodhounds.
the gods told us about their god, told us there was one man
who, bound to a cross, swallowed our sins in prediction.
we asked if he swallowed the mutton, too — if he consumed
the bodies in our stead.
the mission did not answer but asked us to confess heresy.
asked us to denounce our idols, shatter ceramics.
we nicked our feet on the shards and they said their god bled
in this way; they distribute rice and glass together,
teaching us to puncture our palms and come to their god.
every confession ended in a slaughter.
in silent baptism, they would drown the heretics.
they cleaned their faces of sin with the rice water — they took
only what they deemed worthy, leaving our cadavers behind.
their arms were slathered in molasses to mask the acrid blood
they’d smear across our lips.
we drank until laughter bubbled from our mouths,
tearing our throats into cavities from which to take.
the gods wore modest, white cotton and tore apart fresh mutton
with their bare hands. blood seeped into the fabric
but we were blind. they had already taken our eyes by then,
leaving milky hollows in their wake.
they told us esh tastes sweet and brought this to our mouths, too.
blood blended with the pigment of our tongues.
this was a fate we could not escape; the gods painted our nation red
and called it our doing, called us bloodhounds.
the gods told us about their god, told us there was one man
who, bound to a cross, swallowed our sins in prediction.
we asked if he swallowed the mutton, too — if he consumed
the bodies in our stead.
the mission did not answer but asked us to confess heresy.
asked us to denounce our idols, shatter ceramics.
we nicked our feet on the shards and they said their god bled
in this way; they distribute rice and glass together,
teaching us to puncture our palms and come to their god.
every confession ended in a slaughter.
in silent baptism, they would drown the heretics.
they cleaned their faces of sin with the rice water — they took
only what they deemed worthy, leaving our cadavers behind.
About the Author
Ela Kini is a high school student based in New York. Her work has been previously recognized by the New York Society Library, the Alliance for Young Artists and Writers, and Bow Seat. She currently attends Hunter College High School. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in West Trestle, Ghost City, and the Eunoia Review.