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
About the Author
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.