Winter Amnesties

Seminary Easter

12 Seminary Easter 1 What did I pray for that first year? That my cowlick would lie down Like Jesus in his grave. That I’d catch Each clumsy afternoon those balls Bouncing around me in the outfield. That my dreams would not come With legs open and tongues aflame. Brow bent hard against the front Panel of the pew, I felt the mortuary Light below the saints creep up Their plaster robes, their faces Sweetened by the empty calm that Glows deep inside a head When the brain’s been removed. St. Anthony, bring back my lost Calling and resolve. Mary, Blue mother of another son Who took a turn for the worse At just this season, smile On this faulty boy who needs The warm breath of your indulgence. St. Jude, patron of the dead duck And the wild goose chase, Father of the haystack needle, Get me out of here. 2 Good Fridays when I served The ceremonies at my old church, We laid the crosscut planks On a table top, his broken 13 Body scaled down from life-size To a weight made easier to bear. All afternoon, the sinners moved up From the dark tales of their confession To kiss the painted toes of Christ, My job to wipe away the spittle Of pious lips pecking at his feet. But even that clean cloth in my hand Could not blot out the blood Leaking where the nails went in. Here, in this abbey tucked back Among the pines and ponds, this school For junior monks and Jesus wannabes, Stuck on the swampy bottom of The Bible-beating South, I put my throat To the haunted lines of a hymn and watched As the brothers hung between the balconies The heavy purples of a pall, a curtain Closing off the stage beyond The altar steps, a sullen drama Posed against those props that Turned to mystery the world I knew. 3 Back home, at midnight mass, I would carry the paschal candle In a blur of sweat and wax And misremembered Latin, incense Swinging through the nave. And where There’s smoke, there’s holy water, A wet blessing from the dead march. With the shine of so much satin Packed inside the chancel, I couldn’t budge Among the priests and prayers, though after The fleshing of the bread, the lifted wine, I poured my voice out 14 In blazing praise of the light, Late in the soft airs of Louisiana, Before that early hour when I put All my bright eggs in one basket. That first seminary Easter, that feast Fixed by the moon, I sat waiting For the drapes to drop, brought down By a trumpet’s wounded cry. And then The choir kicked in, a signal for The lamb to stiff-leg its way Along the aisle, its neck wrapped In a leash of red ribbon, a sacrifice The monks would rack up tomorrow, Fragrant on their plates, their hands Busy in the black sleeves slack enough To pull a rabbit from. The windows open, I could see outside on the lawn A nimbus of gnats in the cool wind Where dogwoods blew and bled their petals Against the risen greens of spring. If the tomb’s vacant, and the body’s Walking on its own again, What movie were we in—King of Kings Or The Mummy’s Curse? I loved that Holy show as much as Hollywood, Where the gospels go through rewrite And Jerusalem’s built on the back lot. The morning unwound around me Like a reel of small miracles. And when the aftershocks of organ Rolled out in slow measure, and the bells Rocked the brick tower above us, I promised another year, or three, To whatever spirit forced me here, 15 And steered my feet from the echoes To the picnic grounds, where my family Took me into the safe and patient Circle of their embrace, my heart Still uneasy, still hiding All the frauds of my silent life. ...