A child, I secretly wept
in my tissue
during Stations of the Cross,
the chapel dank, dim lit
against brilliant stained glass
All the little girl voices
in repeat.
I could not bear witness
to the man flogged
under his load,
thorned in the valley of blood
the shadow of death,
station by station
that stiff pew, crumpling
the tissue my mother had provided
into dust.
in my tissue
during Stations of the Cross,
the chapel dank, dim lit
against brilliant stained glass
All the little girl voices
in repeat.
I could not bear witness
to the man flogged
under his load,
thorned in the valley of blood
the shadow of death,
station by station
that stiff pew, crumpling
the tissue my mother had provided
into dust.
Susan Tepper is the author of nine published books of fiction and poetry. Her most current are a poetry chap CONFESS (Cervena Barva Press, 2020) and a funky road novel WHAT DRIVES MEN (Wilderness House Press, 2019). Currently she is in pre-production of a play she adapted from an earlier novel about artist Jackson Pollock in his later years. www.susantepper.com
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