Jerusalem Slim *
by Michael Topa

I did not know it was Joy
And her fingers
Blessing me from words
Trapped in stone

Now in Gethsemane
You who could not wait
One hour  sleep like salt

Scattered on the ground
But even now  I forget
Where the difference falls

Some say Elijah
Some say John
But Joy  you say nothing
And take me on

*This is what my father called Christ, alone and muttering to himself, while nursing his Four Roses whiskey at the kitchen table.

Now in Gethsemane / You who could not wait / One hour  sleep like salt

Michael Topa was born in Ann Arbor, MI and grew up there, in Texas and Afghanistan. He has worked as a Psychoeducational Consultant in the field of school psychology, and is the co-founder and current Director of Greenoaks Educational Services. This poem was a runner-up in America’s 2017 Foley Poetry contest.

 

 

This article appears in June 26 2017.

Michael Topa was born in Ann Arbor, MI and grew up there, in Texas and Afghanistan. He has worked as a Psychoeducational Consultant in the field of school psychology, and is the co-founder and current Director of Greenoaks Educational Services. This poem was a runner-up in America’s 2017 Foley Poetry contest.