The Jesus in Our Church is a White Man

but my husband looks more like our savior:
more like Jesus than the man
they have stained into glass–
a man with blonde hair and skin
like spoilt milk.
Lying in bed I imagine all the ways
my husband resembles my God:
broad nose and dark skin and a smile that could turn
any tax collector from his capitalism,
any table on its head in the great temple
of the pharisees,
and I wonder: if the church truly stood
behind their God,
would Immigration still be standing
so close to mine?


Image Credit: Roundel with Crucifixion, the Virgin and Saint John, British / THE MET.


About the author

Emily Uduwana is a California-based poet with recent publications in Stonecoast Review, Miracle Monocle, and The Northridge Review. She is currently pursuing her Ph.D. at the University of California, Riverside.

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