I’ve been thinking lately-

I've been thinking lately-

I’ve been thinking lately
of Christ on the cross—
not the symbol,
or the story—
but his body torn open
while the world kept eating,
kept working,
kept killing.

When I was a child,
I imagined his pain once—
and it blistered me raw.
It filled my chest
with breath that wasn’t mine.
It pressed against bone,
cracked the silence
between ribs and memory,
where gesture failed
and imagination collapsed inward.

Now, after years of
suffering, heartbreak, and disease,
I recognize the shape of his wounds.
They run along my abdomen—
raised, pale, and deliberate.
They speak in a language
my body has learned to translate
without words.

But more than that
I wonder how the world looked that day. 
Was the sky bruised with silence? 
The earth, a crust of thorns and dust. 
Did the air carry myrrh— 
frankincense rising from root and stone, 
the Father returning the Magi’s gifts, 
in gratitude, or grief.

I wondered if the red-tailed hawk,
perched on the shingled roof
of the house across the way—
watching for a field rabbit
to break from its burrow—
was the same raptor
who once screeched from temple eaves
for his flesh.

I watch it rise,
ascend into the sky,
its wingspan no longer
than one arm outstretched.
And I know—
in its flight,
the hare below
is spared,
for now,
another day.

I imagine
how far the body can extend
with both arms open—
in reach—
in offering.

In its screech
I heard
how much 
I  
could 
bear.