I light a candle. I find it hard
to meet your painted eyes.
I say, “I’m sorry, sorry,
sorry, sorry.” Looking down
from your cross, unfocused,
you say, “I forgive you.”
But, “You have to say that;
you’re Jesus,” I complain.
Your face is wooden.
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A Family Like Mine: Biblical Stories of Love, Loss, and Longing
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