Catholic shame and bitter grace,
a dash of humble origins,
I quote the scripture as a cloak,
but feel what she felt years ago

as Mary moved away the stone
and realized there that He had gone—
there’s always a lesson to be learned, like
“the men you love won’t stick around”

and “no one ever has your back”—
when dad got drunk he killed the cat
and mom was ghost-faced in the hall
praying, “please God, let him fall”;

the tricky thing is, we pretend
to love ourselves despite the sin,
‘cause someone’s blood had paid for this,
but every drop was on credit.

And someone dies, and someone lives,
and it goes on and on like this;
I close my eyes and hum the tune—
I know it will be over soon.
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