I cried also

..this is perhaps off topic: but I have a thread at Talking Points Memo, in “the Hive”: “Pride is Every Day”, and a friend shared this, by ‘anonymous author K’:

Ruminations on the death of Pat Robertson

I don’t like to think
About Pat Robertson going to hell.
That lets him off too easy.
I like to think about
Pat Robertson finding himself
In a heaven he never believed
Would exist.
Where Divine is reading in drag
To the children murdered at
Sandy Hook and Ulvalde.
While Edie Windsor
And Gertrude Stein drink coffee
In the breakfast nook
talking politics with Harvey Milk.
Where Matthew Shepard relaxes by
A stream, reading poetry to
a nameless young man whose family
Never claimed his body
when he died
Of AIDS.
Where the music plays loudly
Welcoming dancers from the Pulse
and Club Q to the floor where they
Twirl and vogue with
All the murdered trans women of color
Whose names we never knew.
Where Jesus puts his arm around
Pat Robertson’s shoulders and
Drapes them with a rainbow feather boa.
And, gesturing around him says
Come, meet my disciples

I’m not a believer.
But I cried.