Search
  • Neon Mariposa Magazine

Two Poems by Caroline Grand-Clement

Updated: Jan 5, 2019

my god.

Caroline Grand-Clement

my god wears flannel shirts

tied around their waist.

my god has too much gender

to be bottled up

into a name.

my god trims their nails short

but never falls short

of the right words

to preach.

my god has black sneakers

& rainbow socks

upon which we lay our hope.

my god wears a black tie,

forever ready for a funeral

they did not plan.

my god braids

acceptance in all

their children’s teeth,

dyes love into our hair;

my god helps us

keep going forward.

my god wears

their skin on their sleeve

& it shines every color.

my god is a

shapeshifter.

one day they are

claiming hearts upon

mountains & the next

they are searching the sea

for some forgotten child.

my god does not claim

land they know is not

their own.

my god has met your gods

only once, but i pray

that they get along.




i start defining love by the things it leaves.


Caroline Grand-Clement is a seventeen year old, half-time poet, half-time student at an international school in Lyon, France. She dreams of art in any form, falling stars & late night conversations. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Beyond the Shallows, an anthology by L’Éphémère Review, Rose Quartz Journal, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter, Tumblr or Instagram @octopodeshearts.


#poetry #issue1 #CarolineGrandClement

68 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

the grand tour by Angelina Martin

the cankerous grackles in the parking lots swarming in synchronicity like a biblical plague they don’t scare easy no matter how mean you make your face instead they congregate right in your path and t

Cat Gut by Holly Day

across the room from me, my guitar pulses bright colors, throbs dreams I can’t ignore. I think about sleep but the music’s too loud. my guitar sprouts lilies not intended to twine, purrs of birds I’ll

Three Poems by Jenny Andrekedes

Hope to Thaw If I were frozen in the ground, I’d hope to thaw. I’m left with muddy footprints and sticky fingers- I’m a thief. I stole what I needed to survive: a wet tongue, a Celtic cross against a