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Easter Service |
The congregation rises
and I am sleepy,
my consciousness swept
into a neat pile of sand
in my stomach.
It’s my first time
in a Christian church.
I’ve never even read the Bible,
having given up on Genesis
after the fourth day of Creation.
The congregation recites
the Lord’s Prayer in a voice
that sounds like one old man
splintered by a funhouse mirror.
I peer half-blind
at the order of service,
mumble with a thick tongue
the words,
sing the hymns with a throat
that pops and clicks
like an old record.
The congregation lines
up for communion.
I watch each woman
open her wet mouth
with more eagerness
to take in the body of Christ
than the tongue of her own lover.
I stay in my pew,
avoiding the pastor’s gaze
by staring intently
at the blue corner
of the hymnal.
copyright 2005
Leslie Maryann
Neal |
