Since I dwell in the same condemnation,
justly, within the cross of my reward,
languishing near what I used to shun,
I now praise the body torn and broken,
this beauty fraying worse than any cord.
Hours of suspended condemnation.
Hanging between us without explication—
hands and feet bleeding, numb, and scarred
before it is finished. How could the sun’s
light weaken, where is its constellation?
Forgive those of us offended by the word
rendering both blessing and condemnation.
Lord, grant this body a better habitation.
Oh, bring me into the hall of thine accord.
Oh, that I had turned away and shunned
a life of feigned promise and adulation—
lies that led to embracing the absurd.
Bury me in this thy condemnation.
Bestow a shred of commendation.
Mark D. Bennion currently teaches writing, poetry, and drama classes at Brigham Young University-Idaho. His work has appeared in various journals, including Irreantum, RHINO, Third Wednesday, U.S. Catholic, and Windhover. His most recent book is Ambrosia: Love Poems. He and his wife, Kristine, are learning how to parent four daughters, two sons-in-law, and one son.