March 30, 2009
My palm rested on your jawbone and my thumb cleansed your brow today,
To rub sins from the creases between your eyelids.
I was looking to purify you for Sunday worship;
To leave you unsoiled.
We broke bread through our biscuits, sipped wine through our orange juice,
Prayed through our casual exchange of irrelevance by way of our tongues.
Nephew, that is where I recalled the groove amid your features,
Where your smooth skin became uneven, and I had unearthed your dried tears,
You were only visiting Chicago for a weekend, but our moments apart emerged through your dehydrated smile.
We walked the eight blocks to church;
One for every year you had graced this earth.
I took your hand in mines and held tightly,
I felt the holes where your crusifiction nails had gone,
Pounded by that hammer of neglegance
And I mourned for you.
I wished I could have clutched your pain by the horns and tooken it for a ride all my own.
Instead I clutched the door handle to redemption and ushered you in.
Bellowing out of the choir robes before us, Mary's screams;
I saw my savior between the spaces in the pues where grateful faces matched our own.
I whispered to you the reason you were here,
You raised a humbled arm to let me know that you already understood.
Some said that the capacity of the knowledge that Jesus Christ had was beyond genius.
The preacher baptized his congregation with the holy water of conviction through his words
And you listened intently.
As we walked back towards home
And your parents stood in the driveway ready to ship you back to Wisconsin,
I kissed your tender cheek and they could have called me Judas.
Leading you back to the hands of your abuser was betrayel.
But forgive me;
I know not what I do.

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