Christianity’s Secret

The only takeaway I take from Christianity

is something so assiduously secreted, kept out

of sight, intently barred from any possibility of causing

what ecclesiastical authorities apparently had long ago

supposed would be the terrible traumatic repercussions

were the barest hint of it to be exposed, the slightest

trace of it observed, as if it were a lethal virus fated

to be cryogenically preserved; or evidence of life

on other planets, preternaturally iced. It’s simply this:

Everybody’s Christ.

Our mothers never told us since no angel ever came

to scare them silly with the news – that the infant

they awaited was a dilly. The only mothers (one

discovers) who intuitively knew were witches. Alas,

few witches are around, or can be found, and fewer still

have babies. But finally, I’ve had the breathless pleasure

of uniting with a treasure of a witch’s grown-up child

(the sex we had was wild!): and from this witch-begotten

being I now know that we and you and everybody else

are constitutively a part of an incomparable family.

We travel endlessly in search of any other witch’s child,

or someone who would like to be - to join us for the ride –

and in our indescribably wild fun. Perhaps you’re one.

Look into a mirror. Are you beautiful? Do you glow?

That’s how you know.

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