Of A Sunday

of a sunday you made tic tac toes in the diamond snows
then crossed them out
and danced on the crust

of the bread crumbs left to you I could just
crumble away but is it factored in
when the just are not just

and the merciful held in contempt
I long to know.

writing the codes of the law
in His own blood the Saviour stood
past the olive woods he loved:

but barely under the load the Lodestar
mocked and defiled

and I think of this awhile
when I consider the law
and the vagaries of wearing white

after Labour day surprises, coteries
of being accounted nothing
for this and so many things

that dear God cannot matter to You.
So I play tic tac toe in the snow
with my functional shoes

not being in the "know" but in

being used
my used up imagination
freezes up the tears remaining unshed
that Jesus bled and bled

and still was misunderstood
a millennium later
in the world that just can

cross you out of it
despite the Cross
relying on

old break room news
and getting up
and leaving the room

with not even an afterthought.

mary angela douglas 15 may 2017