You Hate My Cross (a poem)

I know you hate my cross but I love it.
You hate everything that it represents.
All the times you wrapped it around the rear view mirror,
I’d roll my eyes while you demanded you needed to see clearer.

It’s just a little bit of wood metal and a rope.
But it reminds me of a time when I had little hope.
That was before you and the kids and our beautiful life.
Before I ever thought someone would make me their wife.

I got it with the metro and kept it in the impala,
Now the impala’s gone, I was scared you left it on purpose.
It was back in 98 when I needed to escape away from him.
Bad breakups are called bad for a reason.

In a small mexican town that was built into a hill,
With a crystal clear brook cut between the trail,
I went through a church carved out of the stone,
Into a cave I felt so alone.

Before I could ask the Virgin Mary to help me understand,
A nun shoved a cross on a rope into my hand.¬
She chastised me in Spanish and I just looked at her blankly,
Knowing that God would understand her as easily as he would understand me.

That crucifix kept me safe till the day I met you.
And it kept a us safe together every day since it’s true.
Because God has watched over us even when we haven’t looked out for him.
Even when we didn’t look out for ourselves and what separates us from him.

So the next time you finger my ugly brown cross, before you roll your eyes,
Remember that this is a part of who I am, raw, uncut with a few good tries.
When we put it in the next car remember all it represents.

The road I took that led me to you.
The hope, love and trust that I believed were true.
I know you hate my cross but I love it.
I love everything it represents.

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