April 7th, 2012 12:13 EST
Zombies at Easter
I`ve honored your son, who tasted like all sons.
He recoiled at my appetite, whimpering,
clutching his spilled organs, suddenly unsure
suffering should be his way to holiness.
You will forgive him. You always do.
Like a moth he fluttered up from his flesh
toward a spotlight already preparing
the next scene. I was an extra till morning,
when I worked as a cashier. Heavenly Father,
his blood tasted like chocolate. Is that such a sin?
By Will Nixon