Erin McKay (17)
Earth Angels
I am building my body;
covered in clay, bared in blessing
for this earth that is me.
I construct meticulously—
This is life on purpose,
this is me playing God,
playing human.
Finally, I mold my throat
and throw open my window:
Everyone! fine-tune your tendons
until they sound so sweet, we can’t help but dance.
A chorus of friends answers my call,
beating hearts bundled in sacrality.
With God in our palms, we join hands
while our bodies weave and spin—
Around the circle we go!
Our voices hang celestially
as we leap and keep time for one another.
And when the jubilation is done, we carpool home;
breathless in our new lungs, we tell each other every truth.
Eventually, we say our holy goodbyes,
but we know, in the morning,
we will make ourselves anew once more.
Erin is a young writer and editor for GENCONTROLZ Magazine. She has been previously published in All Guts No Glory Zine and enjoys disposable camera photography.
Earth Angels
I am building my body;
covered in clay, bared in blessing
for this earth that is me.
I construct meticulously—
This is life on purpose,
this is me playing God,
playing human.
Finally, I mold my throat
and throw open my window:
Everyone! fine-tune your tendons
until they sound so sweet, we can’t help but dance.
A chorus of friends answers my call,
beating hearts bundled in sacrality.
With God in our palms, we join hands
while our bodies weave and spin—
Around the circle we go!
Our voices hang celestially
as we leap and keep time for one another.
And when the jubilation is done, we carpool home;
breathless in our new lungs, we tell each other every truth.
Eventually, we say our holy goodbyes,
but we know, in the morning,
we will make ourselves anew once more.
Erin is a young writer and editor for GENCONTROLZ Magazine. She has been previously published in All Guts No Glory Zine and enjoys disposable camera photography.
