Who dared to ask

what happens when the name--savior
has hollowed
when flies buzz on a scorcher
church sunday--you fold
skirt pleats in a grimace
and wonder
when he (who is divine)
will let it end
jesus
watches the horror
of drowning friends--who is him, the hallow
christ who ignores
broken light on the table--little legs in a row
blood red
and where
is lord
in the fumbling nights of merciless crime
when your ten year old mind
can only grasp elimination
and float from fear, hang above
body until he leaves
and where is he the beautiful blue-eyed
porcelain prodigal
who should pray for me
no madonna
to undo the gift of life
by throwing it into the air--sinless doves
who have the luxury of
flying away
when god doesn't come