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.