I mean to write
about the crosses we all have to bear,
those of our own making,
and those burdens we are born to carry.

But then I catch my reflection.

I stare at the cross in the mirror,
the one that dazzles from my neck,
sparkles with diamond shimmer,
captures and reflects every ray of light --
Suddenly I notice it --
The utter defilement I am.

As if it means a thing,
this lump of coal on a golden chain,
this symbol of suffering and sacrifice and shame.

I am without.

I am without.

10/16/2002

Posted on 10/17/2002
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