My son knows the name Jesus
only from green billboards along our
Midwest highway.
The Christ interstate headed west
is speckled with live naked girls
truck stops and pro-life pleadings
At the east Catholic end, where I was born,
my mother is taking my sister
to the theater with the velvet seats
When I heard this I started to cry
with the frantic truth I am too far away
the Lord highway can’t get me home before curtain
The closest we can get, they say,
is at that moment just before birth
before any of it had a Name
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4 comments:
no, not a prayer, but a tearful lament for what used to be, or perhaps never was except in memory, where things grow smaller and larger, all at once, and even the roads cry out like prayers.
lovely work.
James, you should visit more often. Then again I should write more too. Miss you
i sent you a note at yahoo. are you still there? good to hear from you.
The velvet seats are uncomfortable. There's always big heads seated in front of me at the theatre. And you are always on my mind, wishing u were by my side.
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