Raising Lazarus

by Renwick Berchild

Some say Jesus laid with Lazarus
the way turtle doves press together;

I am not one to doubt, love.

As I lay with women, a woman
in my own right, I am confronted
with a graphic depiction of a man and a woman in sex,
conceiving Kahlil Gibran, Galileo Galilee,
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Marie Curie,
Hasan Ibn al-Haytham, like points of light.

Head raised, sternum held, I try to walk
with the lanterns they make tossing shadows all about me.

Some say I will die
with boiling lead down my throat,
Saint Boniface echoing violent deaths to those
who imagine things not as they are.

Yet here I lay with her golden hair spread
like a climbing rose
across my weighted shoulders, her touch

expelling the world for awhile,
a summer sun in cold winter, granting a vision

of Jesus with Lazarus.

3 Comments to “Raising Lazarus”

  1. Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.

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