your practice hands
look like his
but his only ministered abuse

perhaps he thought that
a Jewish child couldn't impede
his blessed climb toward heaven

in case God missed this incident
I supply the reverend's name

dross to gold (for Paul)

once again I return
through the difficult night
swallowing demons
as I fix for home

no more his weight across
my back
his arm seared into my neck
forcing my head down

let me hear your voice

its lode
makes songs of burdens
alchemy was always your profession

both poems

by Lynne Kositsky
Willowdale, Ontario

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