My Jesus Fear
Matthue Roth

Been trying to resurrect but I
think I’ve forgotten how—

all the perfect moments I missed.
You shoulda seen my boss’s face

when I soared straight upward in
a white dress, unshaven.

Are those flowers in your hair?
No, they’re thorns. I could kick

moneylenders from the Temple.
I’ve walked barefoot through

Manhattan. All I’ve gotten is cuts.

I rub my hands in a room full of bodies
stand back and wait for something to glow

I listen. I breathe. But the only new
heartbeat I hear is my own.


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