The Rack

Yania Padilla Sierra
Featured Image: untitled © Samantha Reichl 2018


My heart is on the rack
For I will not
To the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments.
They burn me, his Inquisitor’s hands,
Rummaging for secrets

But I am a mute contortionist
and only love will still me.

He turns me over,
a spitted golden calf
For I’ve milk to spill but
it is a bloody strain.

It seeps from my eyes
It weeps from my skin;
He’ll wring out enough
to steep his black heart in.