Forget the cross.
I’m already crying
like a baby. Why
must I drink this
fatal medicine? Why
endure and then give
up the ghost? Why,
then, the scholars in
the Temple? Why
those fishes and
loaves? Why
Elijah and Moses on
the mountain? Why
all that light? That
flood of light? Light
is God, and God is the
True Light. Why
not a woman and
children? Why
not long years to
breathe this air and
see each morning
the fill of light? Why
put one step in front
of the other? Why
am I alone, now and
always, even when those
guys are awake? Why
does the grass here smell
of goat shit? Why
choose? Why
do it? Who
will wipe these tears?
Patrick T. Reardon
3.29.18
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.