THE DEPARTMENT OF MOTOR
Jesus, let me have the courage to
donate my organs.
It is a selfish thing to not check
Let me do this for once without
hesitation, without need
for eyes in the afterlife, for lungs,
for feet, for heart.
If it is reincarnation I believe
in, forgive me
for wishing death so soon and by
car crash, drowning. Forgive
me for not taking care
of this body, for not returning
home to wash and dress
my father's wounds. With faith
I would pin milagros,
wishes for miracles on wooden statues.
A copper leg
to mend my father's feet, a silver
heart to cure
mother's murmur. Jesus, it
has been too long
since I have seen them. Forgive
me for seeing Mary
as a kaleidoscope of color in the
windows of small town churches I
If I could see devotion it too would
resemble a pattern.
It would be as clear and spontaneous
moving like a spot of oil across
a watery sky.
So be quick about it. Pack
my organs in ice,
swab my body with oil, and light
me on fire.
I'll rise above the dividing lines
of the highway
and funnel in expert abandon with
the swifts, those lovers
of industry, of flue and chimney.
I'll finally join
the faithful in a mass instinctual
© by Thea S. Kuticka