Footstool

A poem from a friend about being drunk on Sunday

reminded me of the time when I was eighteen

and read Easter Sunday Scriptures at sunrise services

high on LSD.

I don’t remember which scriptures I read,

but I remember the light through the stain glass

just above the head of Jesus standing on the globe.

I didn’t want to mess up

…not because I thought it was a sin,

but because my parents wouldn’t understand

and I was tired of mom crying

and dad being disappointed.

I remember thinking Jesus knew

and didn’t care about the LSD

only that I was searching for truth(s).

Some mornings light filters through trees

and I think of Jesus using the world as his footstool

and I’m okay with that.

10-25-22