Antigua has a voice devote and close to god and yet still breathy and filled with curse words. Her poems deal with her childhood, her abusive step father, absent mother, her mental health, her relationships and chronic pain. Monsters dance in the shadows of a girl’s dreams and the slut walks in the path of Mary Magdalen. Her poems feel personal in a way that makes you want to keep reading to find out what happens, to reveal the confession.
“I knew he was jealous -God, not the boy. Instead of Proverbs before bed, I spoke to the boy on the phone, whispering, my body cramped in the dark corner of the living room, my family already asleep. I told the boy”
“If I could take my tiny shovel hand, carve out the synapses from my head, shoulders, knees and toes.”
“The disease reached a longitudinal pain and I blame the gods of my childhood, Jesus and the TV, and the basement parties where I became a forgotten church, when the boys came for pleasure and I asked for mercy.”
“after I have wasted myself on the pain of the unknown.”
“I thought I was supposed to leave all my bodies buried. But I look for them, my fingers deep in the mud now, scraping the ground with what nail stubs I have left.”
“I'm an inspiration for returning-
the married man goes back to his wife, puts his lips back on the beer bottle. I return to a country that loved me once, get drunk at the same bars.”
“I'm not used to feeling good or even just okay, and I'm frightened I'll turn healthy and boring.”