Monday, June 11, 2012


I glimpsed an image of myself
Wearing a priestly collar,
Floating in the air like an apparition
With antagonistic intentions.
That collar clasped tightly around his neck,
So tight I felt it wrapping around my own,
Choking life from a nearly lifeless corpse.

Flying fists and flailing feet
Couldn’t prevent me from turning blue,
Seeing black, falling into dirt
And dying, dying the death
Of a disappointing son.

He stood above my grave,
Six feet over and sick with glee,
Offering Last Rites with a smile
So huge, so fiendish, so victorious.
As rain began to fall,
I imagined all hope of escape falling with it.

Just then, a flash of light,
The sound of soft breath
And a hint of frankincense.
A hand reached down
Grasped me under my hips,
Broken as they are,
And lifted me up from the grave.

The ghostly priest now gone,
Dispelled by the generous
And gentling breath of Jesus,
His collar lying lifeless
Encrusted with mud and malformed wishes.

Gentle Jesus loosened the mud,
Making it white and wild with purpose.
He set it fast around my neck,
Singing a song of absolution.
His eyes filled with tears
And a smile began to form:
“You are my beloved brother,
In whom I’m well pleased.”


  1. Replies
    1. You're welcome Rob. And thanks for reading and commenting. I'm glad my poetry can do some good.

  2. We love you, Chris. We are so proud to have you as our son. You have been the joy in my life and you will be a wonderful priest.