Poetry by | September 15, 2019

In church, my God hangs
half-naked, stuck
to a wooden cross.
In front of him
is a sea of heads.
The fans attached to their hands
swivel back and forth;
gusts of air
gently dry off sweat
from their overdressed bodies.

In church, my God is a disk
as small as a thumbnail.
The hands that receive Him
are decorated in gold, silver,
and dirt. His taste is far from
godly. His heavenly crisp
is softened when he rests
on our ungrateful tongues.

In church, my God hangs
stuck to a wooden cross.
His gaze is always fixed.
He does not go anywhere
even when the seats He faces
become empty.


Koko is a graduate of Ateneo de Davao University. He is currently a public school teacher. He loves vanilla-flavored smoothies.



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