The background noises grate my ears; I would rather ponder and scribble while the world is fast asleep and the soft palate of this starless night snores cricket and hyena sounds – you ask if I truly believe Jesus died and arose from the dead; all I can say is I need a glass of magaritas on rocks with a slice of lemon on the rim of my glass; then if the weather in the pulse of my mind is right, we shall broach and ponder a crucified Christ till daybreak – I shall cradle my clean-shaven head against the tufted crane of your neck; I crave the feathery scratch – and yes, the Christ must have been born and died and risen from death, saddled ether with a sneer… like seasonal rot of seedlings, I sprout and spread my arms in receipt of life – a streak of light splits the innards of this mournful night of owls – a trail of tears and the relief that comes with hope – 9/25/10 By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr.