Christmas in the Desert
is a thing God only considers in Jest
- candy lights strewn for no evergreen
just chapped bramble, Spikes against the soft Holly.

This Cacti in False starlight
is Drag, but only in Jest
and there is no God in such a thing -

I never wear tights, even when I want to,
For occasions or always,
Because my leg hair stands the
Netting some inch above my actual leg
And so there I stand
With two trunks dressed for no Holiday,
Again and Again,
Before I Never leave the House Lit up
Again and Again - 
A congregation to no passage, but
Churches are tragic// funny to me
Built into Sharp towers - 
Bristle to the Palm of Comfort
God’s house with no room for Them, even.
Nothing built in honor
that says reach your hand out and rest here, child -
just Holy left looking in.
The word only reaches wanting ears
Through walls and brick and window
& no wonder why no one seems to answer our song in full. 
Hear only what they want to - 
The palatable. Loudest among them. Gagged or Cackled.
Kate Bush sings to me several rooms over
& I hear what I think is
If I only Could,
I’d make a deal with god,
And get them to Swallow places 
& bless 
All Queer bodies exist in Hymn, Lord
Glow like fairy lights in the desert -
Soft rejoice amidst the violence.
Just short of a prayer at arms length.
And so I pray as the Nair chars up my Thigh -
A High forest in spots of Crimson.
The chorus goes
If I could
Id make a deal with god
And get them to swap our places
But I do not want that.
Not like this.
Not really.
I get so drunk to Leave the House in a Dress
Wet as God’s mouth. Legs smoothe as a kept Joke.
It snows in Phoenix, and I wonder who is laughing.
Work In silence - Hang up the last 
Few rows of lights up the Pecan tree
Staple by staple and I swear
The branches 
They were all bleeding.                         

John-Francis Quiñonez is a Desert Flower & Current Resident of Providence, Educator, Provider of Accessible Aide as Your Queer Mawm, and Poet./////Truly just a Queer, Latinx Wild Thing on the Hunt for Candy almost Always.////Has a handful of Poems in Maps for Teeth, Yellow Chair Review, Voicemail Poems, Drunk in a Midnight Choir, and Slamfind///Is trying their best not to talk too much about Rock and Roll or Fruit Bats, but Promises Nothing.

Howard Hodgkin was born in London and studied at Camberwell School of Art, London and at Bath Academy of Art, Corsham, where he subsequently taught. Hodgkin's paintings may look abstract but are always based on specific events, usually an encounter between people. They are painterly evocations of a remembered moment rather than a literal representation. He began painting on board in the 1970s and on a large scale in the late 1980s. He won the Turner Prize in 1985 and was knighted in 1992.