Going To Church (inspired by our president's walk of shame from the White House to the church) Like a BOSS I know where to pray on the mountain with the Babylon of rocks and boulders on vertiginous peaks Twisted Limber pines much older than me Flowers that no one else may see succulent white liquid petals, wet desert daisy tiny... pink... stamens (sparkling eyes) drowning in the vast crown Rooted in dry gravelly ground Short-stemmed like me Cutting every corner to conserve energy for the grand, miniature display My heart is rejoicing automatically Holy people praying on TV The virus is culling our weak Be a humanist and take care of the herd because we all have our turn to die The Bishop is in a hurry The Rabbi is pedantic and brief The Imam is rapping woke poetry, long relay races of chosen words You know who I preferred My god is nature I wander A sea of boulders rising in a swell, cradle isolated, contorted, short, oxygen-starved trees Granite corners, pink enclosed by black Shifting layers like petrified cake Broken, clefts everywhere The crack in Mummy’s skin is where the faeries live Small people in colourful clothes, hats, happy cartoons, garden gnomes in a receiving line I only feel them and the need to laugh when I come near I sit with them, sprawling in the pew The church is warm and protected in the gale Liquid black gold running down the side of a crevasse Twinkly granite under dark moss Shadows straining in the high altitude wind scouring the earth Not even big birds are out The sun is close, will these wings melt before I bring the benediction back to my herd -Celia Quinn
2 replies on “Going To Church”
I love the first picture – all those incongruous mundane and scared things together and I love the vivid pictures of the rocks and flowers. Great to see the pictures with the words. Makes me happy.
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