Poetry

Reuters photo

By

Alejandro Escudé

The Doors of the Lakewood Christ

I love the way Osteen speaks as if he’s trying

to get you into bed. A lump of wet toilet paper.

Houston. Mothers holding babies. Old people

sitting in waist-deep rainwater. This is the

21st century and we 21st century people aren’t

compassionate with one another. But we may

want to open the megachurch, let God’s people

in before Noah’s flood wipes them out. Osteen

sat on his hands as the dirge of the storm played,

splash after splash, pools full of oil, sin, and trash.

Fear is not biblical and can’t be foretold. It belongs

to the present. Fear happens as you consider

the next verse. Fear happens as you preach

about fear. It starts at the feet of a father wondering

whether his child will turn into mud. It settles

in the rescue boat of a mother’s brain. In the bones

of the elderly. Fear is not a millionaire. Fear is poor

as Texas. If you wish to pray, pray for love

and a non-contemplative neighbor with a boat.

Alejandro Escudé

Alejandro Escudé’s first book of poems, My Earthbound Eye, was published in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.