I am fractured
-in the stained-glass sense
-in the sense that crystallized color
Could be a medium/ for lists of gratuitous sins.
I am a ship
-in the sense of Theseus and the infamous question
-in the sense that my state of being exists in paradox
To my origin.
And I am the fruit of the Tree of Good and Evil
-in the sense that apologetic isn’t listed among the fruits of the spirit,
-and the seeds I sprouted from fell
Very far, from the tree.
I am made of:
“Mom, Dad…I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry that I would let knowledge like ambrosia
Drip down my chin.
That I would finally find a reflection of myself
In her lips;
That I would die, between her hips-
And rise again on the third day,
Arms stretched wide – already ready to be crucified.
Wait. I’m sorry that is backwards.
The resurrection is supposed to come after
The death sentence but,
The pulpit says I am a reversion of nature.
So, I play from end to beginning,
-Which is why I’m left here hanging
-Gripping exposition and Ending-
Alpha and Omega;
“Have you, forsaken me?”