Jesus Wants Her Bad    by  Alison Daniel

She drinks
another thick season, breaking the ragged bread
into uneven halves as she dreams the risen dream
of Mary Magdeline kissing the lips of Christ.
Her crimson ruby red lips drink deeply his mouth.
No disciple wants this. They call her a slut,
a whore, a trap. And the bare knuckled moon
whispers explicitly, dripping the bloodied
heretics song of oiling His feet with the scent
of perfumed hair. Jesus wants her bad and Jesus
jumps her bones. Each day she washes their body,
in the river where the water is clean,
where the stream is a privately profound polishing
of fingernails into thin translucent stones,
replicas that all good men need to throw.

© Alison Daniel