Jesus, Etc.

It is between stained glass windows that I enshrine everyone I’ve
Ever held as they fall on top of me, mumbling moments
Of sweet confessions that I never asked to hear.
When I pray, a voice tells me to sever ties
With attraction. Possibly because I am drawn to
Men who can’t remember my best friend’s
Name even after I whispered her praises into their ears.
The type of men that forget my middle initial after I
Show them the tattoo that I keep tucked underneath
Black and white lace.

No, those are not the men we waste our time on, my mother tells me.
Still, I see them everyday
And neglect to tell her. 
They tell me to
Come by anytime I want, voices whine when
I listen to them sing sweet nothings that I
Whisper into hymns the next day,
Praying to keep them, counting them
Like beads on a rosary.

I confound these men with a god that I don’t know
Because every time I was asked to pray, it was for
Something I did wrong. So I spoke to god stunted through
Tears. A fault that I can only say was taught to me
By my father, who screamed phrases that were
Holier than me.

Every man I want rises on the weekend.
Before they perish on Sunday, I try to
Devote myself to them. Still, they won’t let me.
It’s the same. It all ends the same.
Alone, I beg for them to come back and, when
They don’t show for their resurrection,
I ask them to tell me something divine.
But I rarely hear anything
Beyond how pretty I looked
In the light when we met and then silence,
Leaving me to ask whether they existed at all.

Love, like the last missing testament,
Will come if I act vigilant.
My mother asks what I have been doing for the
Last twenty years and I tell her
About a man who I confused
For Jesus in a grocery store.
I thought he was gentle and kind,
The way he cradled the orange in
His hand made me want to kneel before him.

“You should have known, though,” she says in response. “There's a difference between Jesus and Jesus and citrus. Your father should’ve told you that.”