burying peters-son

burying peters-son

by troy cady

what if resurrection

hinges on loving the dead

what if God gives free lessons

on kissing corpses

like learning mouth to mouth

with mummies

what if all we needed to practice

was the art of the

open kiss of opened lips,

a face full of ground’s gravel

whose side would i take?

the living or the dead?

“disgusting!” the critics would say.

“unbiblical!” the christian.

they’d call me in for an interview.

“whose side are you on?” they’d ask.

“the Hurting,” i’d say.

“the hurting? they’re not hurting.

they’re dead,” they’d say.

they’d strike me

and, hearing no prophecy,

would begin to prophesy

on my behalf.

“crucify!” they’d shout.

“he’s good with words

but he never tells us plainly

what he thinks

and when he does,

it’s heresy.”

they’re at my side

with a spear,

thrusting epithets.

so here i am now

slain in the grave

on the side

of the dead

who will rise

like brides

full of passion

for their Beloved,

king of the grave,

king of the crucified.