The Second Coming


You won’t believe me when I say this
Indeed I speak it still in fear
But the memory lingers with me, like the wound of a rusty nail
I saw the face of Jesus
Yes it’s true
No please don’t mock me
I did not believe it either, I did not recognize him at first
But then neither did the twelve in that dim ether long ago
His eyes were filled with love, inexplicable to me
And yet there was an anger and a sorrow, even fear
His hair was matted, rather dirty
And the clothes were worn and tattered, hardly elegant or refined
Yes, you laugh
And think I’m crazy
But I tell you that it’s true
I saw the face of Jesus
Imploring and alone
If only I’d seen him sooner, but I didn’t recognize him, you see
Till his body lay stiff and cold
Swaddled in the corner of the subway station, only ten or twelve years old
Homeless and forgotten
And believe me, you who will, with more venom than the Pharisees
Pontius Pilate and the rest
We have crucified Him


(Previously published in Poetry Soul to Soul, Dec.2006)

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