Sitting Below A Rebar Crucifix

By Jon Lawrence

seems to suit me. My dad’s dad ran I-Beams
through casting molds, and dad’s dad’s grandfather crab-
clawed stacks of steel until a fall from grace,

eighty forced feet to his spine. No family wants to tell
that story. The position of his body
in the gymnastics of death.

Instead the tale is his wristwatch, the only Lawrence
heirloom from Belfast still ticking; second hand still
strutting circles, but this can’t be a tale for resurgence. 

I wonder if they scooped him off the ground,
paraded him and genuflected
through the blast furnace.

I-Beams still got cold-rolled with Lehigh River water,
like Alzheimer’s washing stories from my grandfather.
My city builds shopping centers and casinos, lets

squirrels establish beachheads in abandoned rafters,
and the dial still moves a watch hand, each second
sucking the hue of a bearded angel falling, sieving this memory:

a steel warden, staring at a folded body, tickmarking
accident reports with his watch hand
on paper that will surely burn.

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Jon Lawrence currently teaches high school English and Creative Writing in his hometown of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. He received an MFA in Creative Writing at the Maslow Family Graduate Program in Creative Writing at Wilkes University, and is a staff reader for Frontier Poetry.  Lawrence’s poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and he has been published in Newfound, American Writers Review, The Bangalore Review, Wild Roof Journal, and others. 

Instagram: @jlaw1116