Palm Sunday Redux

i loved the hosannas, jesus riding the donkey into jerusalem.

everybody going nuts until that last supper, when things took a turn.

my brother and i used to whip each other with the palm fronds they gave us in sunday school.

betrayal, crucifixion; that next part was brutal, and the resurrection, too little, too late. i preferred a different ending, where judas kept his mouth shut so that me stuffing my face with jelly beans made sense.

these days i am short on faith with the planet burning. people are fickle and often cruel. the weak die. my version still end in nails through flesh into wood.

so i reexamine the beginning, the donkey, an unexpected choice. what if he kept going? who would we be worshipping then?