bisexual ghost

bisexual ghost 

part of me is always hidden 
buried beneath a wedding ring & a husband 
a piece that people can ignore 
in a crowded room, no one can see her 
she’s invisible 
an opaque sexuality 
a ghost gathering dust 
First Communion  


On the day of my First Communion, 
I wore a white dress 
White gloves 
White shoes 
White veil 
To show I was pure 
Enough to be accepted 
As a believer 

I walked down the aisle, 
A child bride too young to know 
I was a marrying an asshole—
I placed my hands the way
The nuns taught us 
Last week in Sunday school—
Left over right 
Left over right 

I was interrupted with a memory 
Of the girl I held hands with 
Yesterday at recess—
My left interlaced with her soft right 
What did that mean? 
Left over right 
Left over right 

I repeated this mantra 
Until I was next, burying 
That beautiful girl & my curiosity 
Beneath the playground mulch: 
The body of christ—


What would we do first? 
I whisper into the telephone 
I think I’ll devour you, a meal 
I don’t taste 

No, you reply–
We’ll take our time 
I want to learn your body 
Practice it like a religion 
A catholic mass, 
The body of christ 
Replaced with your body 
On my tongue 

This communion—
Our union—
More holy 
Than a childhood 
Eating Raspberries

She and I explore this pint of raspberries made of one
Hundred roses decorating each drupelet, 
Each pair, 
Pulp and seed.

Plucking a raspberry from its hard wood stem, 
I press it between my 
Thumb and forefinger, let the tart pink 
Stain my skin in the crevices of my raised 

The sunshine licks the wet juice, like
Tomato sauce on wooden planks touched
Gently by golden August heat in Sicily for

I push my finger into the hollow core of another
Raspberry, feel the soft 
Velvet of the inside yield to me as I push forward
Until it drips down my hands–

I meet the moisture gladly with my tongue. 
paper mâché moon 

we’re losing our moon slowly 
she slips through our outstretched fingers & 
we’ll lose her completely someday 

for every rotation around the sun 
our moon leaves us by one inch 

it’s so subtle we can’t see her 
literally inching away from us, retreating  
over millions of years, 	inevitable 

our gravity tries to stretch her small body, 
bend her rock by force–she pulls our oceans, 
both of us trying to make the other 		elliptical 

we love her too violently, her shape 
holds but she spins faster & 
each increase in speed sends her further 

who could blame us? 

we’ve never fallen in love with a moon–
loving a planet is walking its forests 
& the moon needs us to swim her ocean 

she shimmers, shows us a well-lit 
shapeshifter but conceals her 
darker side devouring the light of day 

she’s made of contradictions: 
her skin is ice & absent atmosphere 
her core is magma & fury-melted rock 

we look closely through our ((telescope)) 
her surface is delicate–porcelain & paper mâché 
we can see the craters she survived 

someday we’ll remember this & 
we’ll forgive her for not wanting the fire 
of our gravity to burn her alive. 

Maddie Portune (she/her) is an MFA poetry candidate at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. Her poems have appeared in genesis and an anthology, Indiana’s Best Emerging Poets. She currently lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband and their cats, Tim and Tony. Find her on Instagram, @maddie.portune.