by Ashley Archuleta

at His crisscrossed feet,
lest it sway sideways
from the Roman soldier’s
condemning hammer.
Pinioned in my fist,
—I clutched as tight to
iron as to sin—
fierce spike pierced spurned flesh.
Black metal split taut
tendons; a crimson
flower bloomed between.
Dewed petals unfurled
to blessed heels, vining
through my fingers like
sunlight threading through
cracks: at holy feet,
I am convicted.

Ashley Archuleta is a technical writer living in Texas with her husband and five-month-old daughter. Her poetry and prose have appeared in Ever Eden Literary Journal, Laurels, and Thoroughfare.