lenten journal: cross words

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cross words

growing up it was nothing
but the blood as though
violence was an answer

we’ve seen enough history
to know that blood doesn’t
wash clean as much as it stains,

colors almost everything
whole civilizations built
with wood and nails and blood

by the time it was finished
Jesus said he felt forsaken
start there—at the ending

the magnificent defeat
that sent the disciples
running for the shadows

back to their old rugged boats
bereft and brokenhearted
faraway from the hill

whatever language you borrow
speak words acquainted with grief
sorrow and love mingled down

were you there? me neither
can we stay here long enough
to tremble before we run to Sunday?

Peace,
Milton

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