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a maskil
C.C. Apap
all praise begins with hiding—
the things that we conceal
beneath covers, within safes
secret chambers, behind locked
lips and closed doors, the layers
of rich, embroidered fabric. veiled
threats. brides. undressed piles
of poetry, unmolested near the bed.
every final, silent prayer said
at night, begging for suffering
to pass by our doors. lacking
language to express gratitude,
having buried it for so long,
it has been my habit to ask
for no blessing, lest it arrive.
what a surprise, then, when all
the doors blow open, the mask
drops, and all is, for a moment
seen—unexpected consecration
in afternoon light. all the cotton
shrouds tossed aside together.
I never sought divinity face
to face, but god, this is close.
C.C. Apap’s writing has been featured or is forthcoming in Belt Magazine, Alba, The Thimble Literary Magazine, Roi Fainéant, Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight and The Wild Umbrella. His short story, “Bed and Breakfast,” is a 2024 Best of the Net Nominee. He teaches literature at Oakland University and lives north of Detroit in a suburb where doodle ownership seems like a fundamental requirement.