Читать книгу Twisted Shapes of Light - William Jolliff - Страница 14

At the Jesus Radicals Conference

They walk through the line in an orderly way,

taking enough, but not too much. No one laughs.

They bring their own plates and cups. No Styrofoam.

Potluck veteran though I am, I can’t make out the food,

but I’m sure it’s deeply committed and fairly traded.

It’s strange to hear such passionate talk in a church.

We move to the lawn of the Mennonites who agreed

to host the gathering. More accustomed to capitalistic

market-driven hygiene, I’m glad we’ve come outside.

Because I ask, some tell me outlines of their journeys,

of where they came from, how they wound up here.

There are many wrinkled ways to get to Portland.

Finished, they slump in quiet piles of natural fiber,

and at last I can read their bodies. Truths dangle

from pierced flesh and cover every inch of visible skin.

Jesus, I am old and academic, and I have much to learn.

I would like to read the rest of them, the rest of their stories.