This statue isn’t marble
          it’s ash;
                    so much the same except the fire beneath it.

What’s ash without fire?

The two figures ask this back and forth,
          but have no answer.

They would stand here forever
          if not for the heat; if not
                    for the grasp of the soldier’s lash.

“Imagine,” Sister Theresa says,
          “this is the last time you see your mother.” Imagine

if white hair
          could calm the warlike spirit.

Imagine that I place my index finger on Mary’s hooded head
          try to pull the veil back:

all that moves is me.

My mother was always a hooded figure
          her anger ash-like;
                    her heart a lingering ember.

The day she left, our driveway turned to dead sea
          more salt than water, where everything I threw in
                    refused to sink.

“This is the last time you see her,” Sister Theresa said
          but she was wrong.

She’ll be there as he waits to die; hidden face
          looking to his hooded heart.

And perhaps they’ll see each other.

Though, perhaps, he won’t be able
          to take his eyes off the western wall

how Jerusalem slips from the sun; palms
          stand like sentries, while leaves
                    wither to spikes.

Their separation from him is a measure of distance.

He prays to this distance.

–Matthew MiniCucci,
Reliquary, Accents Publishing

More from Matthew Minicucci:

• "Figure 3: Jesus Falls (1)"
• “Figure 2: Jesus Takes Up His Cross"
• “Figure 1: Jesus is Condemned to Death”

Matthew Minicucci is a graduate of the MFA program at the University of Illinois in Urbana, Champaign. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming from numerous journals, including: The Gettysburg Review, The Southern Review, The Literary Review, Mid-American Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Cream City Review, and Crazyhorse, among others. He has also been featured on Verse Daily. He currently teaches writing at Millikin University in Decatur, Illinois.