Appearing from nowhere
Jesus takes up his station on Grand.
Alone, his wig slightly askew;
a crucifix glints in the garish sordid light;
his nail varnish mismatched, and tarnished.
Over the slim feminine frame, falls a black robe.
Smiling, I feel a special fondness for him.
He looks how I feel, out of time and place.
Eyes down, the riders disappear into the world
of social media
(it’s a distraction from the singing drunk).
Beggars risk life and limb,
as they slide from one carriage to another,
desperate to find an offline giver,
desperate to be found worthy of change.
Standing to offer my seat to a mother,
I’m eager to retreat from it all but I can’t.
The smell of urine, and body odor hangs
in the crucified air.
To call this ride crazy would be absurd.
To call this ride crazy would be absurd.
It’s the kaleidoscope of an existence
wrapped in a shroud.
Jam-packed, they squeeze in and around me.
Lurching forward, sweaty bodies press together.
the weight of humanity crushes and caresses.
I’m not afraid of suffocating yet my breathing labors.
And, while I may have left Jesus a few stations ago
he journeys with me still through this Via Dolorosa.
Rush-hour employees thin out as we travel west
no longer obstructing my view of the dying light.
I’m lonely.
We cover more and more ground between stops
as time rushes by in a surge of fast-moving images.
Outside are empty concrete nests of varying sizes,
and I almost giggle when I find myself whispering
a long-forgotten prayer.
