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Poem: “Gethsemane”

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


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