The Heist

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They say your 33rd year is your Jesus year
A year of death and resurrection

Years ago on a camping trip
I told my friends that I didn’t know
If I believed in God

A biblical lightning storm
Descended that night
Thunder ricocheting off the
Granite slabs encasing
Our grassy valley

Cracks of lightning so huge and close
That my arm hairs stood on end
Flashes of light illuminating
scared faces that were
So brave and bold
On the mountain pass

God, I said,
I’ve changed my mind.
I believe in you, I bargained.
Please, don’t kill me, I plead.  

Spared that evening
Death would come years later
Three days before my 33rd birthday
A text hurtling across the ether
Shattering everything sacred

Slain by the man I’ve loved the longest
By the man I felt most loved by  

Robbed of my memories
Robbed of future joys
Robbed of my anchor to the world
Robbed of the person
Who made everything okay
Even when nothing was okay
The grand heist of my life

God, what does
resurrection look like
When everything has been
Burned to ash?

What grows in this barren