Prophet

By Walidah Imarisha

Today I met a prophet
getting off the Q train
the smell of piss and pot smoke
succulent and heavy.
My heart was torn and swollen.
Today I needed a miracle
to make it through.

For so long
I have had no religion
save the love we are able to steal.

His laughter cackled crackled curled
punctuated scriptures
pierced my self-righteous disbelief
in anything more judgmental than myself.

Crucified in new york
stoned in south central
or shot 41 times in jerusalem.
The only things I held sacred
were the laughter of children
the scream of rebellion
your body moving beneath my hands
sweet sacrament.

My temple was obliterated
burned to the ground.
Our stolen love
ran dry
like god’s forgiveness
like Palestinian children’s tears.
I am drowning in this flood
sent to purify.

It was we who bled
in jerusalem and tiennamen vieques east harlem
and my bedroom
I was left hanging from your barbed wire cross.