Palm Sunday

I had a chocolate bunny melting in my palm-- 

where a white dress is stained by grass 

and my knees are red from resting on the pews. 

Two books hang in the wood above my head and 

the old man in the pastel suit waters the flowers outside…. 

In the house, I’d mar my skin. 

Trains shake the ground, bombs drop miles away, 

and I am more afraid of God than ever before. 

Dog teeth nibble on my aching spine and 

trickles of light fall through the sky. 

Tomorrow, I will trample them in small black shoes 

big enough to fall off my feet. 

And this time I will make it to the stone building on the end of the street. I will find the air growing cold behind me. 

I won’t think about the dozen colorful crosses in the carton.  

I won’t throw pebbles through the glass Mary.