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©2019 by Prometheus Dreaming

Children of the Cross

David Dixon

I am the people of Lent

The people of giving up and surrender

 

I see omens where there are signs

Signs when there’s no portent

And portent when there’s merely chance

 

Black snake across the width of the road

Means hold your baby tight

Or perhaps that something is lost already

The warnings are never clear

 

Crows do not come and go simply

They leave me to hold the shadows

Of their passing

And I save their dreams in small cardboard boxes

Unwrapping each on the anniversaries

Of the day they come true

 

Perhaps it’s of my mother

Who comforted me saying the wind was Jesus

Gentle when seeking sheep lost

But fierce in the separation of goats

 

She was a child of the cross

Who brought me into this world on Easter morning

Yet kept me far from children of the open tomb

 

My wife is the people of Mardi Gras

She says just run over the goddamn snake

David Dixon is a physician, poet, and musician who lives and practices in the foothills of North Carolina. His poetry has appeared in Rock & Sling, The Northern Virginia Review, Connecticut River Review, FlyingSouth 2018, Sand Hills Literary Review, and elsewhere.

About the Author