“Tiny Deaths” (not all Truth is true)

I recently found myself, at the recommendation of my pastor, reading a collection of short stories by Robert Shearman entitled Remember Why You Fear Me. It was a collection of all things weird and macabre, sort of like what you might expect from a contemporary British Poe, albeit with a bit of a mildly blasphemous streak.

Toward the end of the ebook version (not the print version) is a short story entitled Tiny Deaths, which opens with Jesus’ death on the cross. In this interpretation, he hears the Father’s voice from heaven while he’s hanging there, asking him if he’s sure he wants to go through with the plan. He assents one last time, and breathes his final breath. This is followed by a resurrection…of sorts:

So, My Baby Got Vaccinated and It Made Her Sad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My little girl asleep, wrapped up in sun;

A life, half-stirring, buried under sighs;
A thousand lives, unlived, inside of one.

A bronx cheer from your lips (the sound of fun;
A faux pas soon far buried under lies).
My little girl asleep, wrapped up in sun.

Five months you’ve been alive (life just begun,
And yet, a sober wisdom in your eyes?);
A thousand lives, unlived, inside of one.

My life becoming yours (not quite half-done);
A wrinkle ticks away each time you rise.
My little girl asleep, wrapped up in sun.

You sleep to meet the world (a life begun
As one whose burial precedes his rise) —
A thousand lives, unlived, inside of one.

Ten-thousand wars to fight, and only one
Has thus commenced (the Band-Aids on your thighs!).
My little girl asleep, wrapped up in sun;

A thousand lives, unlived, inside of one.