Sacred Wound Lifted Up
God you got me snake bit
and woke me up to the hypodermic fangs
I use to inject my poison into the world,
into my best loving, into my pained self.
And then in your magnanimous, ironic wit
you put it all on a stick,
lifted it up to the cool blue cloudless sky
and tricked me into looking at my own folly.
When my own wound undressed up there
became my healing deep in here
I winked at your Asclepius’ rod,
your cross, your snakey Jesus magic,
and you, you who brings venom and anti-venom,
who heals even when it hurts,
you winked back and I knew I could
shed some skin and slither on.