Zombie Jesus

by Lisa Markowitz

He is not so.
He sits with me, cradles
My shaking body, ‘Still
A baby,’ he says.
His hands crumble,
Flakes of skin fall
Like cherry blossoms
Fall from trees in Korea.

Do they still fall, now
That I am no longer
There?

Zombie Jesus says to me,
‘It was there you didn’t find it.’

I see his bones through
Torn, tattered skin.
He shows me the gash
Where the water poured.

When he laughs, I could
Swear he is gargling
The ocean. He tells me
I shouldn’t swear, continues
With his gargling.

‘You smell like shit,’ I say
To Zombie Jesus.
‘What did you expect?’
He replies, ‘Death is pretty
Smelly.’

I mourn all flesh and flower
Contained in this yard
Where any hope of clarity
Is long gone into the ground.

‘Where is your hair?’ I say
To my sweet, sad zombie.
‘They’re fitting me for a wig
Next week.’

Many bugs feed on his flesh,
The kinds of which I couldn’t name.
We talk about my 7th grade project,
How my father made me kill
A praying mantis
And a monarch butterfly
After much protesting.
They went, defeated
Into the freezer,
Their only comfort
Cotton soaked with alcohol,
The world, at last clear and breaking
As crystal, through a glass jar.

* * *

Lisa Markowitz recently received an M.F.A. from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in such journals as Colorado Review, Interim, Stickman Review, Mimesis and American Poetry Journal.