by Walter Canter
A legion of pain Released from My body. There is No room on Your boat? Tell friends? What friends? My family Disowned me. My community Cast me out. My church Gave up on me. I am a refugee. I fled myself. Or maybe myself Fled from me. My identity for so long Has run off that cliff. There is we, In the broken Floating bits Of two thousand Pigs. The two thousand Parts that aren't Me. Now he floats In his boat With his Twelve through My twisted Entrails and Broken bones. He leaves me here. Free, yes. But what do I Do with freedom? I can flee to Decapolis Perhaps there is enough Anonymity in ten cities To not be known As who I was When I was them. Them. I was. Now, I am I. Not we. I am me. I am one For once. I have died Two thousand times. I died two thousand deaths So that I can live. He killed me In two thousand pigs Jumping off a cliff So that I could be free. So I could be me. And I am.
Walter Canter writes words. He is a pastor, a father, and a poet who studies Creative Writing and Public Theology at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. His church is Blue Ridge Presbyterian Church in Ruckersville, VA (brpcva.org).