When You Are There


When you are there no one will deny you your snowfall

When you are there the face in the sky will end its haunt of the boy with flowers for eyes

When you are there even he will seem funny, the failed standup comedian

whose jokes Jesus of Nazareth colored and they were velvet

replicas of Himself but slightly off each one

and nobody laughed not even his mother

not once in his life but she came to his opening

scowling with homemade powder donuts and red in her mouth

Nevertheless his body was found in the supply room of the glorious meadow the subsequent morning

When you are there the unknown woman with dirty blonde hair

in a 17th Century Spanish coif and matching wedding gown smiles

you’ll see that it is a holy or maybe not

kiss that approaches in the mouth that is a collapsing chandelier

and you will know then that you haven’t got there

Something has gone horribly wrong

I am not there either

but trying

I’m climbing the green hillside, climbing, my god

this is walking.



Christopher Prewitt is a writer from eastern Kentucky. Most recently his poetry has appeared in antinarrative journal, SurVision Magazine, and Gravel.

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