by Benjamin Bagocius
Salome said, Who are you, mister? You have climbed on my couch and eaten from my table as if you are from someone. Yeshua said to her, I am the one who comes from what is whole. I was given from the things of my father.”
— The Gospel of Thomas (transl. Marvin Meyer)
Yeshua saw at parties
that I was polite,
that I feigned interest
in most men’s revelations about God
which sounded to me like elevator music.
And when such well-intentioned orators
paused for my applause
to their one-fingered piano playing
of God, I managed a smile and nod
before rising from my seat or leaving the room.
My mother needs help with the washing tonight,
so I sadly must get going.
So when Yeshua sat down beside me and spoke
the brutal, banging Rachmaninoff of God,
tender and painful at once,
I stayed to listen
to the mad pianissimo
he knew, too.
I scooted over on my bench to make room for him.
Amidst the party hum of voices and clinking glasses,
Yeshua watched me play the arrangements I had composed.
He asked if I would teach them to him.
So I did.