Physical
Therapy
“Yes,
the other therapist told me you were easily inflamed.”
I sat
with that label as she pulled and prodded
She
massaged and yanked
“Sorry,
was that too hard?”, she asked
As I
winced internally
Seeing
a star or two
Wondering,
“What did I do to deserve this?”
A friend
recently said that she calls this process
“pain
and torture” instead of what it is
I contemplated
if I was taking in
All she
was saying I needed to do
And I
thought about all the advice
That
comes my way in every given day
And all
I wish to dispense
But whine
within
Wondering
if I really am just “easily inflamed”?
Or do
I ignore that stab of hitting that one sore spot
Until
I see red?
She inquired,
“Is that too much?”
“Yes,
yes, I think I’m done!”
(Uncle,
uncle you’ve won!)
The
pain will be worth it
It
always is in the end
Madatum
An
upper room
Impending
doom
Was all
around
Not said
out loud
His
best beloved
Pushed
close, shoved
To sit
by Him
 |
| The Last Supper by Leonardo Da Vinci |
No other allowed in
He
blessed the bread
Named
it his body instead
He poured
the wine
For the
last time
“It
is my blood
poured
out in love.
Drink
and taste.”
They
did in haste
They
knew he said
He would
soon be dead
And would
rise again
To
cleanse men’s sin
They
didn’t understand
This
humble man
One
slipped away
To
get paid
Darkness
came
Judas
stained
God’s
hand in motion
Disciple’s
devotion
To a
garden’s edge
Hollow
words, a pledge
A
prayer, a plea
“Father,
can this pass from me?”
Torches
touch night
There
is nearly a fight
Jesus
is taken away
He chooses who to save
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