The Benediction Trick

More about The Benediction Trick

he lifts the hand slow,
white glove like it’s never touched dirt,
gold stitched into it like a promise nobody remembers making.

two fingers up—
not blessing, not really—
more like a man about to pull something out of thin air.

and there it is,
not god, not grace,
just a shadow on the wall
with long ears and dumb little eyes.

the crowd eats it.

they always eat it.

they think it’s resurrection,
think it’s light coming back,
think it’s the stone rolled away
instead of a sleeve rolled back.

but I see it—
the way the wrist bends,
the way the shadow doesn’t quite match
until it does.

a trick.

a cheap one, too.

Easter isn’t the rising,
it’s the misdirection—
you look at the hand
while something small and soft
jumps out of the dark
and pretends to mean something.

and maybe that’s enough.

people don’t want truth,
they want a rabbit
pulled out of nothing
so they can clap,
go home,
and call it a miracle.