a jesus that will never biodegrade

sometimes, i look at dainty strong marble effigies

of the virgin mary holding her birth-bloodied son

and wonder if some loves aren't meant for everyone.

chastity-locked inside my heart, there's a woman

who wears long sundresses and lives in the little mac and cheese potluck moments;

she prays her rosary and feels the warm arms

of her traditional husband who loves her as a duty.

as for jesus, well, he's a cheap plastic figurine

she bought from ebay and stuck on the dashboard of her car;

the heat melted his feet in a crucifixion of 2020

but he still stands, wobbly and shaky and commercialised.

when she travels, she prays to him for safety.

(she doesn't travel a lot. she's happy to be stagnant and pray for still waters every morning.)

who cares about my heart, though?

who loves unconditionally and always,

and sees through the rips of cartilage and crushed aorta -

who will look and look and look

and see me? sorry, see me? sorry, see me out.

sometimes, i want to be a child again;

cradled in my mother's arms. sometimes,

i want to no longer put my dreams on hold.

sometimes, i want the world to look at me and say

"hey, pontius pilate, there's another one for martyrdom."

January 2022