For the crime, for the crime you must suffer:
The pain of death, the pain of vagina opening and closing its cavern,
the coffin opening and closing again, the coming in and the going out.
The bloody rose opening its flower once a year then closing it again,
the shred of rose nailed to the fence post to honor the death of flesh.
The pain man brought on himself when he ate forbidden fruit,
pain of the mother heaving, the great whales heaving.
The father and son's chest heaving as he gasps for last breath,
the loud screams a woman gives out when placenta releases.
The agony and ecstasy of thorns that punctured wrists at the execution,
the crown of nails on the head to make sure he’s dead.
The pain unto death, till death do us part.
One dies, born into unflesh, yet alive, atoms smashed and reformed,
the second life in memory, the saying goodbye a welcoming in,
dead flesh the living flesh of those who remain.
The women gave birth, went to the open grave, the stone removed, the empty tomb, but for the memory
The pain
of pushing, breathing, releasing, the life come out of two made one flesh.
The screams of joy coming into the world the same screams of leaving it and entering the next.
The pain of those left behind transformed into the memory of life abundant,
the passion of the rose and the nails that tempered it.
The tomb the vessel of memory beyond the grave,
the womb the vessel of the flesh in life.
The rose no longer in the tomb, bloody thorns the fingernails of the once disembodied come again.
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