Of course, you didn’t know. How could you
It’s not as if you were raised like the others,
grown from the ground of the ruptured & raptured,
the sweetly forgiven, abandoned to the truth
of never settling down with the unsettled self,
with words they denied & flesh they condemned
for not believing in what the hands used to call the soul,
which turned out to be a misunderstanding;
you thought they said soil.
The gritty, gone, going away of everything
precious and good. A mudslide boy,
down the hill of all your hopes and dreams,
the daily unfolding of your disappearance,
a black & white print of your cheap silhouette,
hat an angry god fondled with guilt, while choking
on mirrors he said was the light. How painful the
swallowing must have been, & still be so wrong
about being right, like all religions based
on blood and the million ways to spill it.
Of course, you didn’t know.
How could you?