My babies,
I was there
when first your hair peeked from the chasm
of your mother’s sacred body.
I was the air that kissed
the crown of your holy head
as you wailed your indignation.
My loves,
in that second
you were everything
you ever needed to be.
I watched as you grew into a toddler
a tireless, tumbling thing.
I laughed at your antics
at the soda you spilled on the couch cushions
at the glass you shattered on the floor.
It was only when you learned fear that I wept.
You slept in a concrete bed
your holy head haunted by imaginary ghosts
having heard tales
of a great invisible God who would slay you
while you slept.
Oh, how I screamed,
that first time you looked in the mirror
and saw not what I saw
not a sacred thing
but a sin.
The true God
spun in
the space between
the electrons in the air around you
kissing your mouth
each time you breathed,
but you feared this far away
place called hell
and knelt
asking forgiveness
for being.
You called the wondrous life
I gave you
a curse.
My children,
you have scarred me
with the heresies
you call holy wars,
cut each other down
in the name of this Monster God.
Your mother knelt weeping
over every corpse
you butchered
screaming “Blasphemy!”
But no one heard me cry.
You were too busy deciding
which miracles
would die today.
My weeping ones,
look to the sky
and know
that your redemption
draweth nigh.
The spirit of the Lord
is with you
even on your lips.
Earth is heaven.
You are angels.
There is no distance between you and me.
Father Sky, Mother Earth,
and You, the Sacred Child.
Holy three.
Trinity.
Save yourselves.
Save me.
Before you draw
your Armageddon down
upon your heads
from its place inside
your darkest dreams.
My loves,
I would never destroy you.
I still sing of the way
your holy hair
smelled
the first day
I held you in my arms.
My lost children,
my treasures,
my perfect sons and daughters,
it is you
who butcher me.
Burlesque Press 