Eureka Springs

Now that's a big Jesus

Eureka Springs

Now that's a big Jesus 
and it's not how I know him at all.
Imagine living under someone's father 
image like that, looks like 
he's blocking the door. "I do this 
for you, my son." Look mister, 
I'm hankering for East. I've done 
the Berlin Wall slab, the Liberty 
replica, time's come for passing
the great white milk carton. The real 
Jesus never grew old and he was skinny. 
I held him once, in college. I could feel 
his ribs. His heart hammered 
like a ruby-throated hummingbird,
I felt the wind from his wings 
for years. This big theme park 
messiah, unrevolving and without 
an elevator, this isn't Jesus. 
It's his body guard. It's the man 
blocking the tunnel down 
to the bomb shelters. It's the guy 
who won't let you into the ER 
to watch your mother die. It's the cop 
who holds you back on the grass 
as your friends and ex-wife move 
all your belongings out of the house 
and into a cube van, it's the shape 
you make on the cellar floor 
where you wait for the end. 
The real Jesus played guitar, 
bending his body around the music 
like a gourd. His skin was brown 
and smelled of cinnamon.

Eureka Springs is a glorious re-envisioning of the famous 2 million pound mortar and steel statue of Jesus of the Ozarks. We're enamored of the way this poem takes the familiar image of Jesus, welcoming arms outstretched, and transforms the gesture to reveal our more earthly and unholy fathers, though in the end, returns the messiah to a humble and ultimately human figure.  Joseph Millar & Dorianne Laux

IBPC New Poetry Voices
First Place, January 2010