palm sunday

Some Sundays we act out the stories
with our mouths and bodies
because they are ours, but only
in the general sense.
Our acting is an act of faith,
a hopeful play.

Not today.

'Hosanna' rings out clearer,
truer from my mouth than
'Alleluia' ever has.
It feels right, authentic,
probably because the hypocrisy
is built right in.
It's my story:
I lead the crowd
with broken branches
shouting the shallow praise.
His sees me from his
colt-throne, makes my throat close,
but only until Friday.