Voltaire

Exhuming Proof

Jim Morrison sporting a black beret
at a sidewalk café in Paris,
no doubt hung up on Bukowski,
or Elvis cruising Albertson’s
for bananas and Peter Pan,

such rumored cameos pander
to those in doubt, while you have to wonder
whether Lazarus doubted his own
death as he stumbled out thinking
all he needed was to sleep it off.

In Duccio’s Raising of Lazarus
the air provides the proof, as you see
one witness shield his nose
to stifle the resurrected’s stench;
but Thomas had to assess, had to
prod his finger like a thermometer
to warm the mercury of faith.

Some cadavers never turn up,
and you’re lucky to find a loose shoe or a few
strands of hair woven in a sparrow’s nest,
though the fields are combed.

Others are towed up by rope
rather than divinity, exhumed to settle
old disputes—like if the bones in Hico
truly belong to Billy the Kid.
An expert in forensics waits with scalpel
in hand, eager for the word of permission
to scratch the tell-tale itch.