The Necessary Non-Hallmark Part of Easter

two posts today…

The children sleep and in a still house

I pour blood down the drain.

 

Scarlet drips from bowl’s edge and I’m struck

 

with images of the cutting of a throat, pools and reek of

of plasma, cells, platelets,

and this appeal of peaceable vegetarianism.

 

 

I rub the marinate into the lamb,

blood ponding on plate,

my hand massaging the meat,

fingers pressing out more blood,

and think of socially acceptable religion,

inoffensive theology

 

my nostrils filling with this stench of sin,

mine,

and my one beating heart hurting for the only God whose wild love

had him tear open a vein

and do the repulsive,

 

become a lamb dragged to the slaughter

without bleating or begging

only bared

for the outrageous shedding of blood

 

to cleanse this mess

stained deep into my skin.

::

::

every year, preparing the lamb, I return to this…

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