The seven last words: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Psalm 22)

The question, surely, is rhetorical;

shorthand for this psalm of ‘yet’ and ‘but’.

Did he not know that,

in the dregs of the bitter cup,

he would taste its full, prophetic dereliction?

 

What is

the chill

that spreads through his veins,

the weight

that dislocates his joints,

the contagion

that coats his tongue

and blots him out?

 

Why has God, his God, forsaken him?

© Marion Adams 2016

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