Two by Morri Creech

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Testament

What could we have done, those of us
who stood judged from the beginning,
judged in the lengthening shadow
of the tree of our fathers? So we planed
the wooden beams, bound them together
and planted it, tree of the covenant,
in the firm soil. We forged the nails
and inflicted each requisite wound,
rent the soft veil of flesh that obstructed
our entrance to the kingdom.
When we had finished, some of us
built small fires to illuminate the dark.
We gathered to witness the consequence
of perfection. What else could we do?
We understood the rigorous mercy of God.
Only those who have sinned shall be forgiven.

~ Morri Creech

A Parable of the Body

For it is good to know the strange happiness
of the flesh: at the marriage feast
Christ gestures the waters to miracle,
then lets the sweet cup pass away from him.
A sullen figure among the celebrants,
he casts a cold shadow,
perhaps scrawls his own name
in the dust — or does he fling himself
like flame toward the room's bright corners,
dancing in perfect
forgetfulness in heaven?

Still, he feels the soul caught
like a thorn in the quick of his body—
and that human desire,
the price paid by a god for the knowledge
of suffering. But perhaps what he feels most is love
held fast by an immaculate will: the tenderness
haunting his voice as he rebukes him mother,
then turns from her, in that profound detachment
which remains always at odds
with the difficult heart.

~ Morri Creech

Morri Creech's book, Paper Cathedrals.