right hand pointing

Fredric Koeppel

The soldier who thrust his spear

into Christ's side returns to barracks,

gnaws hardtack and wolfs a bowl

of fish and grain bare-handed. When

thunder breaks the back of Jerusalem,

he falls and scrapes his knees on

paving stones. Those days, you could  

not be human and not recognize the voice

of God and drink that blackness in.

Next morning he wakes face down

in the street where harlots sell them-

selves piece by piece. History begins

here and travels everywhere unknown.