The Messiah Thinks Back to His Long-Deceased Love  

She used to call me Cranky, 
plant a kiss on my scruff, 
tell me to go back 
and save the ol’ shithole.  
Said the masses needed me 
more than the dishes.  
But she’s long gone now  
and I am no closer 
to my imminent return 
than this fish fillet  
hissing on the skillet.  
The spider above the sink 
looks like a bullet hole,  
and I can’t recall if she told me  
to use cumin or turmeric,  
or which Chet Baker record 
got her in the mood. 
You want Truth? I was happy. 
I felt loved. I’d tease her 
that her moisturizer  
smelled of Eden— 
all fruity and sinless  
before flinging her into bed. 
Once there, you think  
I cared if I was due?  
If I missed my cue? A few  
billion frantic prayers 
were like gentle birdsong 
somewhere, saying something 
to anyone but me.  

JARED HARÉL

Jared Harél is the author of Let Our Bodies Change the Subject, winner of the Raz/Shumaker Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Poetry (University of Nebraska Press, Fall 2023) and Go Because I Love You (Diode Editions, 2018). He lives with his family in Westchester, NY. Follow him on Instagram @Jaredharel.