It’s Holy Saturday
8 pastors and elders and friends
sat in creaking oak rockers
and thrifted Queen Annes.
They pressed their hands on my back
and head and shoulders
pushing the prayers in.

their hands were heavy
and warm.  And I hope the warmth is holy,
that it’s the beginnings of resurrection
for my faith and
in my pelvis.

i asked God to grind his fists into the sockets
“go deeper” (please)

they use my name when they pray
and I do not like it’s sound.

and then God speaks through failing lips
I have given you a birthright.
and have sealed you with it
and it means beloved.

The elder’s hands now drip with fragrant oil
to anoint my head
and then my hips

I ask God to use his hands to sew the cartilage back in place
“no plastic and steel, no thread”

Have you considered how much I love you?

we end with prayers for joy.
we sing “the joy of the lord is my strength”
and then we laugh the song once more through.

all the while in my heart I see my brother Jesus
and he looks like me
and our capes fold and flap violently
as we near the throne.

Maybe tomorrow,
Easter,
I will be healed.
“Go deeper, please.”

 

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