Cover My Grave Well

Jesus, Pilate, and the mob

Cover My Grave Well

Cover my grave well or I will come back and haunt the Jews for 2000 years.

Cover my grave well as you attempt to convince the world I never existed, that those who told my story were liars and anti-semites;

Cover my grave well or the parable of the Good Samaritan will ring out for centuries, and the contempt you showed the Samaritans* will be reflected in your hatred of the Palestinians, the Bedouins, the Muslims, the Christians, and anyone else who sees through your mask;

Cover my grave well as you attempt to convince the world of your eternal victimhood, and cover it well as you render thousands of foolish Christians in awe of your “chosen-ness,” luring them into thinking you aren’t stiffnecked, even though your own Torah tells them otherwise;

Cover my grave well or songbirds on the radio will croon my name, sailors lost at sea will offer up prayers to me, nonviolent civil rights leaders will follow in my footsteps, and those caught up in earthquakes and hurricanes will mutter my name in their darkest moments of fear;

Cover my grave well or you will be unable to purchase a ticket into the human heart, and adoration, to the extent that it comes your way, will be reaped only from the politicians to whom you must give ever larger sums of money in order to buy their loyalty;

And of course cover my grave well or bands will close in around your eyes, and you will not see the signs of the times, or the colored moon at midnight; you will cough, thirst, and raise your hands in supplication; you will kiss the hue of impotent rage when you realize you have been given the seat of honor at an owl’s banquet, all the while thinking yourself blameless;

This cup:
The Russian Orthodox peasants shook their heads
in wonder at what was chronicled: “Tsk, tsk,”
they spoke amongst themselves, “they longed so for a messiah,
they literally begged God to send them one—and when He finally did,
what did they do? They killed Him.”

Cover my grave well or Atlantis will rise again, the girl with kaleidoscope eyes will meet the woman clothed with the sun, and even bulls in china shops will stop and contemplate the meaning of my words, “Love one another”;

Cover my grave well or recognition will dawn in the eyes of humanity that righteousness is nothing more than an outer cloak you put on or take off, and you will one day stand exposed and naked before the human Spirit;

Cover my grave well when all your deceptions and mendacities have run their course, at which time you must begin angrily demanding passage of police state laws—and cover it especially well as humanity watches you retreat further and further into your own self-created concentration camp, a concentration camp from which you will dream of someday escaping, only to become as one trying to ride his camel through the eye of a needle;

Cover my grave well or else when you look into a pool of water you will see no reflection, you will become wise as snakes but not as innocent as doves, and you will never be allowed a day of rest from your toil of having to kill the prophets;

Nightingales
Christian Children taught to say their prayers at night:
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.
God bless Mommy, and Daddy,
and God bless the Jews and pray
They not be persecuted.

Cover my grave well as the night crackles softly around you, and truth chirps out its correctness like crickets calling; and cover my grave well as that truth intrudes its way into the sanctum of your dictatorial fantasies, inspiring a general unease, as you look warily around and wonder what may be beyond the trees;

Cover my grave well or in a fit of rage you will one day scream, “We killed Jesus and we’ll kill you too!”

Cover my grave well or else learn the difference between anti-semitism and anti-jewish-behaviorism, because murder stinks, you can’t hide it, even though your own olfactory nerves are deadened to the smell—and genocide reeks even worse;

Cover my grave well as a minute, thin flame (rather than living water) courses through your soul, starting at the base of your spine—a flame fueled by rancid pork—and working its way up the coiled tunnel, through the coccygeal, sacral, lumbar, dorsal, cervical, and medulla astral centers, to the morning star between your eyes…

A Jewish ratings war:
It’s Perry Mason versus The Beverly Hillbillies,
Bonanza versus The Smothers Brothers,
As the USS Liberty is bombed and torpedoed
—a kiss from Judas Iscariot

Cover my grave well or I will become the loved one of the bride, and when Martin Luther King and Dorothy Day take my hand, the tears of Mary Magdalene will stop flowing;

Cover my grave well, or my song will carry on the wind…a bundle of beatitudes perceived like the scent of flowers…and no matter how hard you try and eradicate it, it will persist, a song spirited by butterflies who will land on your walls, guntowers, and checkpoints—butterflies who do unto others as they would have done unto them—a song of the bright morning, a song of the fulfillment of human potential, and the best of your people, those least inclined to acts of murder, will remember it was I who sang it;

Cover my grave especially well, especially now, as you prepare to start your next war and kill your next quarter of a million Muslims;

And cover my grave especially well, especially now, as you get ready to dupe your next quarter of a million Christians into fighting it for you;

And most of all, cover my grave well or the face of human recollection will rise from its casket and the modern world will suddenly remember who it was demanded my crucifixion.

By Richard Edmondson

* Rabbinical saying of the first century: “A piece of bread given by a Samaritan is more unclean than swine’s flesh.”

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