Divine Mistakes
by Marisa Valotta
DIVINE MISTAKES
What god makes mistakes?
My spine is braided clumsy
a child’s first attempt
to place each strand of hair.
Tuck
behind there
Twist
here
around this one.
Nice try, kid
but my bones ache.
My lumbar lumbers to the side.
My thoracic lists and tilts.
What god misplaces so many bones?
These vertebrae are a barbed wire fence
that strains against my skin, pushes up from the inside
until I am a ridged creature—
I could say I am like the mountains or a dragon
something majestic—
but I feel like something more
Base.
Mutant.
Deformed.
What god made me the way I was made?
I believe
I am clay
I mold myself
but I am not
the god who made me the way I was made.
I am not the sculptor
of the before
but I can choose to sculpt
the after:
My spine was braided clumsy, but I have steady hands.
Marisa Valotta
Marisa Valotta is a queer writer from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and a graduate of Seton Hill University where she earned her degree in Creative Writing. She uses writing to reflect on her identity, sexuality, and her place in the world. Her writing often touches on themes such as the concept of home and how humans connect and relate to nature, the universe, and some higher power. She has been published in Eye Contact and Emerging Writers of Pennsylvania. She has a three-year-old avocado tree named Cody that she grew from the seed.