to the minister in my men’s rehab writing group

you read truth aloud with a preacher’s 

boom, wiped an eye as you shared your 

simile for shame. the other men kept 

tearing up too, then you described 

tears as the holiest water to save 

your soul from the coconut rum. 

as fluorescent lights buzzed above us, 

you took us to the sunday at shiloh 

baptist church when the lord raised you

up on eagle’s wings, the year 

before the infamous flood, the fall

from grace, the tumble from the pulpit. 

reverend, ever since i heard your story, 

i keep thinking of the time when jesus wept. 

i’ve lost so much religion since i was a kid, 

but there you were, turning wounds into 

words, and i’m a believer in something again.