Thousands of little white crosses dotted
the hillside all the way down to where we parked.
I went up to the nearest one and said,
Hello little white cross who was crucified
on you? Was it a baby, or the mother;
Who does the hill blame?
The church did not answer me, but in its bricks
and mortar I saw a building that refused
to be knocked down, which would only accept
one answer.
Christ forgave and loved
the whore who loved him as a man
and somehow I think one of these little white crosses
bears his corpse.
I did't go in
but prayed in my heart in the parking lot,
to forgive all the mothers crucified
on that hillside.
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