by Holly Day
It had been so long since I’d had a dream about Christ
That it kind of took me by surprise when He
Appeared at the foot of my bed, floating
A couple of feet above the shag carpet in that way
He used to when He used to be a regular
Guest in my college dorm apartment.
He used to talk to me a lot, back then. This time, though
He just stared at me from across the length of my Amish-made quilt
His eyes so sad and sorrowful that I honestly felt
That I had done something wrong. “Can I get you something?” I asked
Because even if I am some sort of sinner, whatever, I don’t really know what kind
I am always polite to houseguests.
Jesus, He used to talk to me, and maybe
He would still, if I didn’t have a man asleep in bed next to me
But Jesus is just so damned polite I think
He was afraid of waking my husband up.
Holly Day’s poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have most recently appeared in Canadian Woman Studies, Skyway News, and Ruah. She currently works as a reporter and a writing instructor in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and lives with her two children and husband.
