Scot Slaby



"But only with OUR HEARTS
can we feel the MIRACLE of GOD'S LOVE
which redeems all men..."
        —Helen Steiner Rice, "Easter Reflections"

Ham on Easter? Not this year. I'm having
lamb. I've cut the plastic bag. Its juices,
blood and spices spill. They stain the roasting
pan's white sides— a reddish brownish splatter
floods the basin. Oils pool. My crimson
Lands End Oxford's ruined, marked, its left breast
pocket splotched with marinade. It serves me
right—I've dyed two skewers red, rammed horns in
sockets on a hard-boiled egg, its fleshy
whiteness framing sallow yolk; I've dusted,
pinpricked eyes (paprika); I've left the nose off,
thinking how it's fitting (Hell's all sulphur-smelling
sin, what only resurrected forms can sense). I'm
drinking Casillero del Diablo.