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pontius
March 24, 2013
on sundays,
pastor john glows with grace
and his eyes become matchsticks, sparking
with the holy spirit. he tells us that jesus’
blood runs in circular movements,
but all i can do
is look out the stain-glass window
and think how
cemeteries are strange. warm bodies
become slabs of stone that push daisies
in parallel lines. i remember i used to mourn
when i saw the winter frost
knocking on the headstones,
but now all i see
is an earth crowded
with so much decay that
we forget how to live.
© Courtney K., Bethel Park, PA
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