poem: Jenn Blair

THE BODY, AFTER RESURRECTION
 
*
It shall be, according to some medieval theologians,
always thirty-three, the age of our Lord when
He set his face like flint towards Jerusalem’s hills.
 

*
It shall glisten at the heel and every pore,
defying the worm and contagion. Skin
soft as Lambs Ear, smelling as lavender does.
 

*
It shall be, according to other theologians,
perpetually thirty, fully matured, but not yet begun
its slow downslide, condemning or blessing
me to eternal nausea and swollen ankles,
a dull, deep backache that requires me to
sing my allelujiahs sitting down.
 

*
It shall dance with St. Roche, lifting up its
skirt to show a perfectly un-carved thigh.
 

*
It shall extend both hands to the leper
who used to pause at the edge of the village
taking the rattle out of his cloth bag
so that he might announce himself
to wary merchants and fearful women.
 

*
It shall be Latin for light clothed in light
It shall be husk imperishable.
 

*
It shall be whole and it shall be praised,
not for its own sake but the sake of the world—
which, before it made the slaughter sign,
freely bid us to heartily feast.
 
 
 
JENN BLAIR is from Yakima, WA. She has published in the Montreal Review, New South, Kestrel, Tusculum Review, Sugar Hill Review, Rattle, and the James Dickey Review among others. Her chapbook ‘All Things are Ordered’ is out from Finishing Line Press.