by Jack Sullivan
Assume
The Reverent
Position
Or so he says, intoning each word
Like a Roman emperor,
Not a kid.
“Where do you think he learned that voice?”
My brother asks, as our teacher
Pushes us to the floor,
Not realizing
Even on our knees
We’re still bigger than him.
*
Spare me your banalities I know
About heaven, I don’t
How I’m supposed to feel. I know
I’ve been priced out I don’t
Of your wanting, I know
Days spent searching I don’t
For my next fix. I know
*
When we say it
Why don’t we ever think
About the pagans?
How the act for them
Was all
Screaming? Singing?
*
Instead we’ve got:
A solemn request for help or an expression of thanks addressed to God or an object of worship.
*
I think about this red-headed girl I’ve known for ages.
We’ve gotten drunk together, broken bread.
How she said I’ll pray for you when asked
What she really thought about me.
Less a promise than a threat.
*
I pray to you, for you
The moment before I enter.
Less promise than wish,
An everlasting hope for
A life free from pain.
*
So many people pray [Christians]
[Muslims]
[Hindus]
[Buddhists]
[Zoroastrians]
[insert religion]
Yet pain still exists // As if
All our screaming // singing
Was absorbed by air
And became // electric.
How else to explain
When my hair // stands on end?
*
What constitutes heaven, anyways?
No one can agree. Some say
Up // other says down // While I think
It’s all around us, even if
That’s the easiest way to respond.
*
I still pray on planes.
Planes are fucking scary.
*
Oh god,
For whom or what
Should I worship?
Well that depends
On what?
On what wounds
You let pass
And what wounds
Move through you
*
Like outside this window,
The trees whispering in the wind.
The sun’s been rising
From hours on end,
But soon day will come,
Bringing a flame
So great, I’ll forget
You’re beside me.
Jack Sullivan is a writer and visual artist living in Brooklyn, NY. Some of his work can be found in Yes, Poetry, Ghost City Review, and Thimble Lit.
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