The Biblical phrase “through a glass darkly” is in reference to the human’s inability to achieve enlightenment (or see God’s grace with clarity) until the moment of death. Igmar Bergman’s 1961 film, which uses that phrase as a title, is a twisted portrait of familial alienation, mental illness and the questioning of the existence of God.

So when I came across the following poem by Cynthia Cruz, I had an uneasy feeling about what was to follow. Cruz’s poem gestures toward Bergman’s film in a number of ways, especially in the end. (The God-spider in the film, by the way, is an allusion to Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment.) The multiple layers of intertextuality make this brief poem a lengthy and profound journey.

Through the Night, Softly

Woke on the highway,
Thin in my dead brother’s clothes.
I was gone but still dreaming.

A desert city strobing in the distance like sex.

In Sparks, I traded in
What little I owned
For a .22 caliber handgun.

Drunk on Seconal in the sun,
I let the poisonous helmet
Christian me.

Contrary to rumor and hearsay,
I am not dead yet.

What I recall most of that overdose
Is the gorgeous white underworld
Galloping into me.

(From Ruin, Alice James Books, 2006. Used with the permission of the author.)