poetry
report
Published in
Mar 23, 2024
if I told you about
the stations of the cross,
I’d pantomime it,
stumbling over the tree.
I’d look down
at my handkerchief
and see a print of Jesus’ face.
I’d look up
at my students
fiddling with toy guitars,
eating fried chips
like a sinner’s jubilee.
if we were vessels
in a potter’s house,
they’d have long pink ovals
for talking all day or not at all.
Edgar would cough
and not cover his oval.
I spin on the wheel, wailing,
but I’m showered
in crafty popsicle stick art
and we slacken
to sew a summer dress
into full bloom.
©Daniel, 2024
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