“Of All the Ways Jesus Could Have Died” by Cortney Collins
If Jesus had died on the pelvic bone of a mammoth
instead of a cross
would we still believe in the resurrection of creation?
Mammoths are extinct, and the gradient between
death and extinction
is an optical illusion that
fools us into believing that although
extinction should be avoided at all costs,
death is nothing but a crossing into life,
a bridge built of fog so condensed that
particles of dew are stepping stones and
vision extends only to the next portal a few
inches away,
and questions have obvious answers.
Like this one:
If Jesus had died on the caboose of a train,
would children still play on the railroad tracks?
Would they crouch on the ground and put their ears
to the hollow railing,
and hear the sound of galaxies rushing away from each other
so quickly
that TikTok is the only way to remind ourselves of each other
and embrace our alienation
at the same time?
Yin and Yang are not mystical opposites, but only
a map of cognitive dissonance between the birthpoint
of a star and all the emptiness it is obligated to fill for
a little while.
If a hummingbird had pierced Jesus’ side with her beak,
doubtless she would’ve gotten much more than she bargained for.
She may have seen the purple of blooming sage draped over his body,
and believed she would find nourishment,
but she finds herself flooded with paradox and parables,
leaving her hungrier
and more confused, and did not Jesus say,
Whatever you have done to the least of these, you have
also done to me.
The scholars call it kenosis, the emptying.
Did Jesus ever ask himself if we really wanted his blood poured out for us?
Perhaps he confused famine with an empty cup, and
didn’t realize that one ravages while the other receives,
quietly.
And if Jesus had died in a wildfire,
instead of a cross,
maybe we would forget about new life for a while,
and bury our hands in ash on the forest floor,
and wonder why we meet every kind of joy
with arson.
Jesus could’ve done a lot of things differently,
but after all this time,
we still know nothing about death,
and even less about extinction,
and even less still about emptiness and fulfillment,
Yin and Yang,
Anima and Animus,
why it’s so hard to find the heart of a star.
Jesus must return,
if only to find death one more time.
One more chance to convince all the empty cups
that there is nothing to be sought and no elixir
that will erase the hollows and curves of an
empty grail.
About Cortney Collins
She/Her/Hers
Cortney Collins is a poet living on the Front Range in Longmont, Colorado, with her beloved feline companions Pablo (named after Neruda) and Lida Rose (after a barbershop quartet song from The Music Man.) Her work has been published by South Broadway Press, Devil's Party Press, Sheila-na-Gig, Amethyst Review, and others. She is the founder of the pandemic-era virtual poetry open mic community Zoem, and co-editor of Magpies: A Zoem Anthology, a collection of those poets' (Zoets!) work. She is a four-time winner of the First Friday Poetry Slam at The Bean Cycle in Fort Collins, Colorado, and a former volunteer with SpeakOut! through Colorado State University, facilitating creative writing workshops in the corrections system. Cortney loves string cheese, Christmas, cornfields (especially in her nighttime dreams), violent ocean waves slamming up against rocky crags, lighthouses, and the color green.