deathbed

poetry and
pictures
the work of your hands
displayed
in memoriam

sassy
you were
in pictures
mini-skirts
and big hair

you read poetry
Omar Khayyam
ancient Persians
you sifted through
dirt and rubble
of archaeology
and ancient writings

searching

questing
fighting
shaking fists in the air

you dared God
to explain
the absurdities
the contradictions
of humankind's bad
representation
of all that is holy

God was silent
and it ticked you off

As you lay dying
I couldn't help you
I couldn't even be
near
as if I reminded you
of all the unanswered
questions

you went down
spitting
declaring your opposition

I would have torn
the mantle around my neck
if I could
if it would have made you see

I understand
I'm ticked too

or that God and I
meet daily
for fierce wrestling
out of which
I emerge a little lame

yet blessed

I wanted
to take your fists
gently pry away the rage
the injustice
the fears
that you were
too smart
for God

I wanted
to tell you
that God is ticked too
at the ones
who use him
use his authority
to maim, curse,
to kill souls

instead
I stood helpless
as you pushed me
and all I represented
to you
away

you ran out of life
before you ran out of questions

but I wanted you
to know

I am not Them
They are not me
and God is not Them

but God
was waiting
to answer
all the questions

that scared
everyone else
and kept your
fists closed

against Love.