I See The Face of Christ

for Pam Cross

In every face
the nun says
as a train barrels
as The Beast barrels
down tracks like twin tick marks
down tracks like a to-do list
this Honduran woman
clutching her 1-year old son
on its top–
not the belly–
on the top
of this beast
this is a list
she never gets to make
a clock that never stops
its tick, a list she never gets
to cross off
with a flourish
no flourish
like the flourish
we use to clutch
the baby we once held
in our belly
to our tit
trembling with the roar
of the beast

the car I drive to work
hums quietly
at no point today
will the lights go out
for good
no one wielding
a machete
will pull me by the hair
from the knit corners
of my office
that nun’s voice so clear & weighted
it’s like she clutches
that woman
her boy—she sees
the face of Christ
in every face she sees
the face—

some days it’s like
I can open my mouth
and inhale the whole of history
be full with it, release,
weep tears of blood
on stone, be Mary, be Mary
weep for the face
of Christ      I clutch
my son at night while he sleeps
he will never know: in every face
I see,
she says, her voice
a sharp thing: an arrow
to pierce my heart, some masked man’s
knife to my baby’s neck.

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About evanduyne

I'm assistant professor of writing at Stockton University, where I'm also affiliated faculty in the Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. I work on Sylvia Plath, contingent faculty, and creative writing around trauma and domestic violence.
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