Like a sacred exacter of justice
you held me ass over knee;
You, who were ravaged by the light.
You, now no more than clay in my hand.
An idol trembling, crushed
under the weight of its own falsehoods
In this life we are granted but one body, one soul,
one spirit, and one baptism.
One God and one Father who is above all,
until he is above none;
his vain cruelty is made flesh
and I drink down his shame like it’s the Eucharist.
No height nor depth could have kept me from it
but still, God is not so easily mocked.
Perhaps this was my own sin;
unsheathing vengeance and burning brilliance
when all he sought was comfort.
Alas, it might have been easier for me to forgive him his trespasses
were it not for all the blood in my mouth.
Jesus, I am all that you could have been.
God, you are all that I might still be.
Lord Almighty, what will become of us.
-Lola Stansbury-Jones, 2023 ©
Originally published in Descendants of Darkness (Wingless Dreamer Anthology), and “I Probably Shouldn’t Tell You This”: A Collection of Secrets in Poetry & Prose.
Lola Stansbury-Jones 