I, too, want to be canonized. The patron saint 
of something clean and pretty. The conceit 
                                                                          is that I am neither.
In this white bed. In this white gown. I am no one’s woman.
Should my heart stop 
                                    before prayer can save me,
who will claim this body? Maybe, I will be buried
at sea. 
                        Baptized once more.
I didn’t wish for this room,
                                                windowless
like the church basement where we played marbles.
A sweet girl back then: 
God-fearing. 
Now, count backwards. The nurse checks my vitals, sighs.
I am keeping her from something more important.

Lauren Milici is a Florida native who writes poetry, teaches English, and is currently getting her MFA in Creative Writing somewhere in the mountains of West Virginia. When she isn’t crafting sad poems about sex, she’s either writing or shouting into the void about film, TV, and all things pop culture.