Sermon, Back Down the Mount

SERMON, BACK DOWN THE MOUNT

And He spoke to them—He who knows

the nose’s Lazarene ability to rouse the memory, 

which is, He thinks, important for his dim 

disciples to remember, who have, over time, 

accrued on the way a certain stench 

to which they are largely ignorant, 

their noses perennially stuffed—

He said to them, “forget the stuff

about the hands and feet a minute. 

Be instead the scent of me. Like a high-

school fling’s perfume, bring

with you to a room an uninvited 

invitation to cast their memory to the other side, 

to recollect a lover near-forgotten. 

Might they sit up a little, suddenly taken 

back to the riverwalk, say, or maybe 

the drive in, where they snuck Rosé

in water bottles and love was less abstract, flesh

the evening feature. Might they be unable to wash

it from their mind that night. 

If they sit up, wonder where I am these days—

yes, if they sit up, wonder who I am 

these days, wonder who they might have become

had they stayed with me, even wake

with a nagging desire to track

me down, hoping to reconnect, 

well-done. Now rinse off and get to work.”