Mrs. Jesus 5/7: Wood Friday


Continued from Mrs. Jesus 4/7: Thor’s Hammer Day


Jesus wraps his arms around me and lowers me to the mattress
“I’m scared,” I whisper
“I know,” he murmurs, kissing my brow
“Don’t worry. I will always be with you, even if you can’t see me.”

For the comfort of my body
Jesus placed a small cot by the Tree of Life
I gaze up at it as he fastens two roots to the holes in my wrists
My body is not what I’m worried about

The sensation is what I imagine dialysis fees like
Or a blood transfusion
The lifeblood of the tree fills me
As mine pours into it
As my consciously slowly wanders off

To sleep, perchance to dream

The Ex-Wife

The woman sits alone
In a dark room
She has been binging
She knows it isn’t healthy
She doesn’t care
She needs this

During the day
She has to function
Feed the family
Work the job
Pay the bills

If she doesn’t work
She doesn’t eat
Nobody eats

She has no husband to speak of
That’s the problem
That’s why everyone needs her
That’s why she needs this

Because what her husband did was unspeakable

If it was ordinary abuse
She would have a way out
These days there are support groups

A thought comes to her
Maybe this is how abused spouses felt
A hundred years ago
The shame
The anger
The humiliation
The desperation
The futility

Maybe someone could invent a way out
For this

Turning the impossible
Into merely
The insanely difficult

Maybe her

She rejects that thought
It is not her

She is the one
Who cannot think that thought
Who cannot let herself
Ever think about what happened
What was done to her
What she did to herself

If she did
She would cease to exist
Cease to function
Cease to be what others need her to be
What she needs herself to be

So she denies it
Barely lets herself remember it
Only remembers the need
To keep HIM away
Because it is HIS fault
HE did this to me

HE uncovered my nakedness
HE proved my worst fears were true
HE demonstrated that our marriage
Was built on a lie

Reminded me that I am unworthy
That nobody ever loved me
That nobody will ever accept me

But that isn’t the worst part

First, HE raised my hopes
HE gained my trust
HE promised things would be different
HE lied
And I believed HIM

That’s what hurts the most
Not that I can’t trust HIM
But that I can’t trust myself

Not anymore
Not if I remember
Not if I let myself face
The ugly, wretched, lonely, useless person
I always feared I was

So my only way out
Is to condemn HIM.
Invalidate HIS perspective
Denigrate HIS values
Reject HIS presence
Avoid HIS attempts at reconciliation

Die to my need for love
Give up on the false promise of intimacy
Lock away that screaming part of me

So at least my body is comfortable
At least my children are fed
At least my friends don’t worry about me

And if I sit alone
Late at night
And drown my sorrows
By binging
Letting my soul
Slowly die

Isn’t that better
Than living
With eternal torment?


I wake up
I am crying

“Jesus,” I whisper
“How can you do this?
How can you spend every day
Bearing the pain of those
Living on the edge of despair
Living without hope?”

I hear nothing
I feel nothing

I open my eyes
I am back in my room
I am alone

I jump up and look around
It is still night
My children are sleeping
But Jesus is gone

And maybe
It is just a lingering
After-effect of the Dream
Yet I can’t help but wonder

Was that woman… me?

To be continued….

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