Modern Jesus
useless as lover
tho primary source
of passion
i cld spend years
recording his mystique
even in his absence
feeling his tight yellow aura
invade even my solitude
as tho hes here
even when im alone
he is present/judging me
it wasnt divinity i wanted
i wanted sex/laughter/grocery shopping
washing dishes & complaints
i wanted to live the fiction
& be normal/have babies/watch tv
& go to church on sundays
he wanted something else
something i cldnt see
or know
or touch
he wanted adoration
never speak of love
never touch reality
& learn to be like him
i might have left too soon
w/just a taste of
divine love
so he cld return
to his celibacy
complete/whole
& me staring at his picture
the halo
an obvious film defect
a woman has gotta
believe in herself
as co-creator
w/the father
sprouting little gods
who grow up
& believe in themselves
Modern Jesus
i see him
alone at the bar
friends walk by
slap him on the back
"hey old buddy!"
they dont know
abt devine love
or sainthood
or the magdelene
that carries his seed
& weeps alone at night
for bittersweet love
(o so devine)
she nails his picture
to a calendar/counts
years that spread between
them like sand
she cries
"forget me jesus
forgive me
im not perfect
unlike you
who once accepted tears
like gifts of roses
& the words 'im sorry'
like sweet sonnets"
forget it jesus
the cross too heavy
& the path too hard
to locate on city map
These poems previously appeared in the Chiron Review. They are reprinted here by permission. The author may be contacted at padiharman@webt.net.
Page posted 6/2/99
