mccarthyism

Light leavings from my treasures I lift
Nor too heavy for my arms
Sluggish, I raise them in symbol of gratitude
Passion and dispassion
Toward the bloody spectacle
And sing heaven weightless in my gut

How will I remember this
Six days from now, when weight too grim
Though feather-light to thee
Bears through me its sad child
And my chained distraction unencumbers?
Could I not have offered
Some small treasure-trinket
Dumbly and divinely leaping,
If only by command,
And if only to fall again, twice as heavily?
And my wife heavy with child
(I feel the weight of it in my own belly too)
Could I not lift her burden skyward
And meet it lighter, on Easter day?
See what weights hang on our legs
What thrust and force I cannot raise
Nor inertia overcome

Who tells us sin takes us up
And swings us sunwise
From sin unfettered