• Looking beyond an empty cross

    Around Mama's neck was a fake gold cross
    that pretended to sparkle clean,
    no matter the cheap smudge it left on her collar.

    Answered prayers were cocaine grains
    that she painted in eerie white halos around her head
    and how it left rug-burns on her nostrils
    after inhaling the divine creation.

    Move over Son of God! --
    your bus-ticket to retirement is here.

    Tricks of the trade were writing Christian sonnets
    and selling her children for sex:
    vodka with a lemon was more important
    than my cherry being popped from a*****e named Frank.
    ( He lived three doors down )
    He said "You little sod, I love your eyes and your taste--"
    that was the blenching mildew, coated his tongue
    when he drank virgin juices off the kitchen floor.

    Faith,
    lost it's meaning, ( I guess )
    when my twin brother could quote the Book
    of John and seduce a man three times his age,
    but her eyes shone with pride.
    Acting like a beloved Saint Joseph
    but in truth, if Gandhi had mace.

    I wish someone could beat this into her mind:
    to be free of her sins,

    Jesus needed to be on the cross.