Phantom Limb of an Ex-Minister

By Christine Wu

When I left the Church I was free
to be as lost as I wanted in the wild expanse
 
of sin and sacrilege. Who knew
freedom would feel so complicated.
 
I have nothing to say
for myself. I am sorry
 
you must pray for me now. Sorry
I left you behind as one would
 
a forgotten stamp collection, a childhood
hoard of dusty Beanie Babies. Who knew
 
the quilted Body of Christ would wear
away in so many places, a knotted tangle
 
of faith unravelling until I couldn’t help
but fall through the seams.
 
At night my phantom limb awakes,
aches from dream-soaked sheets, reminds me of
 
all I have lost, the Jesus I misplaced
when I traded in hymnals for doubt
 
and potlucks for regular everyday
penny-on-the-ground luck. 

---

Sentier City Trail, Fredericton, NB

By Christine Wu

It starts off trim and polite, carefully measured
saplings on a hemmed turf. A low din of
 
traffic in the background as domesticated
city lupines grow as wildly
 
as they dare. Further in, the trees are more audacious,
arms outstretched, mist-damp. A corridor littered
 
with severed limbs trailing all the way
to the source of devastation: a flash of violent
 
orange-clad city workers, maintenance
for this man-made walkway
 
lest nature overtake it. The lucky ones marked
with florescent pink around their spindly trunks,
 
crimson tails sailing in the wind, crying
I am safe, for now. Flanked by the fallen,
 
I walk on. Sliced saplings, carnage of dead
leaves underfoot, this path we shape and tame.

---

Christine Wu is a Chinese-Canadian poet whose work has appeared in Descant and Ricepaper Magazine. She has a BFA in Creative Writing from the University of Victoria and an MLIS from Dalhousie University. She currently makes her home on the unceded territory of the Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) and Mi’kmaq Peoples (Fredericton, NB) with her partner and their little grey cat.