THE MESSIAH

A POEM BY AGATHA E PALMA

can we just go where
you won’t preach
i am so tired of pretending always
i care
that you walked on water
and turned it into wine

i suppose i ought to worship you
wash your feet with my tears
and dry them with my hair.

but before you pity my dirty body.
before you rescue me
from my brutal sentence
and offer your divine forgiveness:

can i just say i
don’t want your redemption
i was already a bible and
you are writing all over me
desecrating my sacred pages.

and can i just tell you,
i am brimming
with your fables.
if you knew how many prodigal sons
i’ve welcomed back
between my thighs

how many sermons they wrote
on top of my holy gospels
and how many times i bowed
and prayed at their feet

you would get down on your knees
and weep
like Judas finally did for Christ.

Emma SapersteinComment