February 15: New Poem, "Lent Flu," Be Kind

It has been a while since I've written a new poem.  I've been rereading Sarah Vap's poetry collection Faulkner's Rosary all week, and she has inspired this poem.  I love her form, her imagery, her surprise.  I hope what I have is good.  I'm not sure.  My first and most honest critic is my wife, and she didn't say she liked it.  But she didn't say it sucked.

Saint Marty can live with that tonight.  Be kind.

Lent Flu

He calls at two a.m. 
     My body hurts
in his crib

I stand beside him
     his fever in the air
like needles on a midnight pine

I can't help him
     snuff this flame
in his muscles

Can only watch him
     suffer, squirm
on his cross

He looks up at me
     eyes full of foresaken
If you love me

He seems to say
    through his thorns
You would take this cup

I know, I know, I know
    my son
these nails

Are sharp sacrifice