“…I will live sparingly” ~ D. Bonta

There was a leather-bound bible embossed
with mother’s name; a ribbon marker, angels

with flaming swords on a gold-edged
prayer card tucked between pages

thinner than leaves. She let me read
from it, nights before I fell asleep.

And I’d fast-forward, skipping
from the Gospels to Revelations,

its visions of horned beasts rising from
the depths: crowned with bloody diadems,

ringed with teeth and claws, chimerical
phantoms bellowing the fire and smoke

of Armageddon. More suspenseful
than a thriller— but how much

of what I read was truth, how much
was mystery? My hands grew clammy

from reading of calamity: how stars
extinguished themselves and the dead

swam in lakes of fire; how ships
and their precious cargo sank

into oceans of bewilderment. How I
was smaller than a speck in the vastness

of this universe hurtling steadily
toward the certainty of the end of days.


In response to Via Negativa: Citizen.

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