Monday, 28 December 2015

In the Museum of Suffering

My carefully curated collection
has been well-tended, as has yours;
We stayed with the cross long after
Christ himself had ascended into heaven,
our suffering  selves sanctified and idolised
and the meaning of his supposed death lost on us

Do not make a special case for suffering:
those velvet-bound exhibits in their glass cabinets,
however precious, do not confer nobility nor special blessings
(I believed that my soul would profit, but that was a lie).

We fetishised the cross, and postponed the resurrection. 

1 comment:

  1. Powerful poem. It resonates deeply with me. My own museum is pretty well-tended, yet I've lost track of all its artifacts in my mind. They're uncategorized and uncatalogued, other than generally, as the painful relics of my life. I hope I can dust them off and let them go. I don't think they have the value the curator in me believed they did when she married us both to the idea of preserving then forever.

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