Holy Week

Sunday I will go astray,
one of those
early morning sins
meant to fill single hours
with more than hollow half-light
We shall surpass Judas
betrayal is
a fuck-and-kiss

Monday we yearn
Tuesday I doubt:
"Are you a religious freak?"
Ritual is a comfort
a necessary cloak
with guilt for a dagger; a
parrot-bright serape
for a burial shroud

Wednesday we see red
lining our vision
drying on yellow tiles
slicking our thighs
riding high on the
cheekbones of the mirror
fading to pale
as we know what we've done

Maundy Thursday, if you
linger by the Lillies
they will paint you yellow, a
leopard ripping pistals
in the greenhouse
We will with indifferent harmony
sing out coded confessions
with a perfume-laden throat

But Friday, love, Friday
Good Friday will burn
I will hold a candle
with trembling hands
flinching before the cross
quartered by spears
rejoicing at the weight
of an empty heart

There is no word
for Saturday's part
between death and life
fear, despair, hope, and joy
"Will you not keep vigil?"
with Marys - Hail or Hated
changing to banshees at night
back to nuns by sunrise

Sunday we feast
on heaps of coal and honey-skin
and wonder: why the fuss?
women in black wailing,
disciples with no faith
We have yeast and sex
Hope is easy, once
we've memorized The End

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

I heard occasional poems were on backorder this month... <-- More Poetry