House Call

by Morgan Ridgway

---

I always
love the 
men who 
swallow misery
in the morning. 
Taste like fog 

& salt. Turn rust 
in my needy 
fingers, 
say love &
mean thank you 
for the company.

When I
wake up 
next to the 
closest thing to 
god, I
unzip my

limbs from 
the sheets
to begin again. 
See,
I always
love the men 

who taste 
like my 
father,
all soot & violet.
I am ravenous. 
wick candles to

burn my virtue, 
drag its dogwood
petals to the altar
& say 
grace. 
I gather 

my wanting, 
crumpled in the palm 
of another 
stranger’s mouth, 
let honeysuckle grow
wild & tender 

across my body,
ripe for the taking. 
At home I wash
the rust
from my skin, 
shake loose

the kernels 
of my ambered 
existence 
till I reflect
the sky—
colossal & warm.

---

Morgan Ridgway is a queer Black/Nanticoke Lenni-Lenape writer, dancer, and historian from Philadelphia, PA. They are currently completing a PhD in history thinking about gathering, care, and joy. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in CP Quarterly, Horse Egg Literary, Indigo Literary Journal, among others. They tweet @morgan_ridgway