The Boy Who Survived

The Boy Who Survived

(“But it is true! Christ has been raised from the dead!” 1 Corinthians 15:20b)

I came here because I’m the boy who survived.
I write home about it nearly every day.
I sing sadly for the wasted laughter that was spent
mocking unsolved mysteries. Though I still do not see them
well,
I know they are the disguises divinity wears when we
see the sky,
drink the wine,
hear the robins,
spy the deer just 20 feet from here.
I know they are the patterns for everything.

I’ve seen Mayan ruins rising above the jungle,
I’ve seen babies so small they barely fit in your hand.
I’ve seen storms so fierce the world disappeared,
I’ve seen the night so black it blanketed everything.
I’ve listened farther,
seen thinner,
cried when my mother died,
and cried again for my father, my sister,
my partner-in-crime, my sweet young student,
and a mentor of mine.

My body too, grows slower through the rotation of days,
through the years when love eluded me, and I chased it looking for
christmas lights at noon. I was certain far too early,
I was convinced far too soon.

I’ve seen sage smoke cleansing basement temples,
I’ve seen incense painting a mood from sterile to starlit.
I’ve imagined midday with you.
I’ve eaten from the hands of an enemy just once,
but I would do it again if
given the chance.

I came here because I’m the boy who survived.
I sing for you to bring you back to life.