1 Corinthians 13
Renee Bradley Shaffer
I can’t be wrong about the first Corinthians moment again.
When I finally got boobs I was glad they weren’t large.
I could be a pixie dream girl.
I was a mystic Cath-o-lick.
I was of the Franciscan order.
I was a ballerina.
I was a polka-dotted, faint-hearted charlatan.
When you didn’t notice how I held a mug with two hands I hated you.
Your Donnie Darko frame and my Thomas Merton brain should’ve been nirvana.
I wrote a short story and called you Lane Fletcher.
My name was Annie Davenport.
I wrote it so we ended up together.
Watch me not be wrong again!
The proper translation of “love is patient” is “love suffers long.”
Lane and Annie were not long enough.
Long like no end in site, long like your hair now.
Red and dirty and not exposing the collarbones – long.
I won’t put on your shirt.
Loose, I won’t try to stick out my collarbones.
I should’ve loved you like a girl with big boobs.
I’ll have you know, I noticed that you breathe loudly when you sleep.
I’m thrilled that finally it wasn’t anything like my imaginings.
I stopped concerning myself with the moment further than eye contact.
When I held it the way I held it I was just writing.
I’m sorry that I ever tried to wrap you up in a ponytail.
I won’t wear you at the nape of my neck.
I’m sorry for staring at your neck and your cigarettes.
Everything that wasn’t you but me.
But who was it? Who were we?
About the author:
Renee Shaffer is a twenty year old currently living in Columbus, OH. She loves mystical Christianity, breakfast cereals, and miniature things. Her favorite word is desecrate. She eats a lot of kale and avocados largely due to her fear to Alzheimer's. Her favorite poets are Li Young Lee and Mark Strand.