Good Friday in a shopping mall

by Jonathan Sweeney

Lost in
low hills
descending
from that place
from the bellows of mourning,
I remember.
You were digging
your nails
into your sides,
Lying flat.
Bending
from darkness from
fog a blanket of dew.
Forgotten
today you
lay flush to
velvet
blue, entombed
in glass
shimmering
and
shopping mails.

See all articles by Jonathan Sweeney