An enormous truck’s flatbed 
well above my head 
sat beside me in traffic. 
Piled high were 
broad, healthy, stunning 
logs 
smiling down at me,
whose circumference 
– stretched out in length – 
might very well guide me 
all 
the 
way 
Home. 

In a flash, I knew 
that they knew 
their time of sacrifice 
had come. 
Like Peter crucified upside-down 
and 
James, whose head laid lifeless on the ground, 
I could feel the joy 
emanating forth from the living center 
of each slaughtered log on that bed. 

Now, 
I sit, 
offended.
Offended because I know
that the family soon to reside 
within the shelter of 
their sacrifice 
will never greet
the martyrs 
beneath 
their 
feet.