Jan/Feb 2021 • Vol. XLIII No. 1 Poetry |

Stone Jesus

Cemetery where we left my mother’s body in the nearly pink metallic casket. My whole life I’ve driven past, turned the dangerous curve where cars pull out into accident. I’ve stopped to visit graves of grandparents — empty-handed or with flowers — the dead neighbor who made us chocolate chip cookies for Christmas. I’ve climbed the cracking steps the corporate office won’t fix to the statue that stands just above my head, the outstretched, constantly calling-to-us hands — deep-drilled holes to remind us, again, where the stakes would’ve been. I’ve pushed in hard each finger and thumb. Stared long into vacant eyes that never close. I’ve circled behind, mocked sandals and mossy toes, dared it to dust when I’ve turned back. The same yesterday, and today, and forever, standing in the rain or sun doing nothing, even when followers beg, the way my mother begged the last months of her cancer-sick life, a lifetime of believing that brought no comfort. She

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Cemetery where we left my mother’s body in the nearly pink metallic casket. My whole life I’ve driven past, turned the dangerous curve where cars pull out into accident. I’ve […]

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By Lee Sharkey

Cemetery where we left my mother’s body in the nearly pink metallic casket. My whole life I’ve driven past, turned the dangerous curve where cars pull out into accident. I’ve […]

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