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My grandmother whispers the rosary, her dresser an altarof Kleenex, perfume bottles, an empty vase. The altarcleaned of VHS tapes where she once watched crowsand gulls cloak the sun, where Rosemary’s womb is an altar.There is too much horror in the daytime for her sleeplessnights. Politicians say my family strangles geese on the altarsof dining …

My grandmother at first refused, but the truth slippedthrough like sun breaking a pond’s icy face—there was a girl wearing a pearl gown who bridge-bent,a snowdrop on the church steps, and said Erzulie stepped inside.Wreathed in Communion buds, the girl almost drownedkissing her reflection in an alabaster baptismal font.The goddess shivers into a bride who …

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