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Cristian Dunn

Cristian Dunn is a junior majoring in Creative and Professional Writing at Cumberland University. Under the tutelage of Sandee Gertz, Cristian’s artistic talents have truly begun to blossom. He was blessed to have Anders Carlson Wee critique his work in a workshop. When Cristian is not spending his time writing, he likes to learn as much as he can about the supernatural aspects of the world, with angels being one of his major interests.

Stings of Sin

Where does it hurt when I lie?
Is it in the piercing pain of thorns weaved
around your forehead with red truth sliding down

Is it the acidic taste of flame
raging in the dissolved vinegar eating
thousands of bumps on your tongue

Is it in the open slit of your side
where a sea of blood and water
spilled like the downward stream of a waterfall

Is it in the holes in your
hands and feet formed by rusted
iron pushed and twisted into cedar wood?

Savior, what does the sting of sin
feel like? Where does it hurt most? And
where are halos found among martyred men?


           We are puppets to

Your systems.                 Our only qualification

        Is to be the number that

Satisfies your                  minority quota defenseless

Without                           our heartless haven

     You shoot us              in the streets

Not because of                our words or ideals

But by a                           variation of color


             that the pavement

    Is stained by the same dark hue

  As we hold our

Fathers,   mothers

Sons,        daughters

Sisters     and brothers

In our       arms at the hour

  Of their death. We

Cling to Our Lady’s

Cloak. Asking not for

Her to crush your head

But for your conversion.

We petition her for another

Guadalupe, Mother

Unite us like you

Did before. Show

them how a mixed-race

Can be Miraculous.

After Camonghne Felix’s “Lost Poem RX”

The stranger across the street
Asks me if I want to die, and I say
Only if it is a happy death
If I were to die now

I’m not worried about
missing out on my first drink
being able to rent cars
owning my first house
or waiting to turn 65
for the chance to retire

Yes, my heart yearns
for the day it stops beating
It is indeed a burning
Choice out of desire
but I am not running
towards death. It must come to me

And when that day
is near arrival
Do not ask me to keep
fighting. I am taking the
passageway that leads to

my ancestors,
answers how
the Egyptians built
the Pyramids, and crafts a
body that knows no Illness

If you want to know how are we so
Compatible with death
The secret lies in           the syntax
Written in the code of
life: God’s program for humanity.