Religion Revisited

(Photograph by © 2011 Zollies-Spot. All rights reserved.)

Fetid smoke in this ancient church
Suffocates
And empty dust particles beam through stained glass windows
Above, warring angels berat down malicious devils in disguise
While accusing dead saints look down on me.
The broken kneeler winces in pain
As the old woman kneels to pray her rosary beside me.
Black lace veil shrouds my dead grandmother as she turns to face me.
And heightened whispers can be heard from the confessional.
I reel to feel her hand on my skin, is it really there?
Gentle grip that enfolds my wrist with urgency
Mouthing empty alabanzas and hallelujahs and the glory be
In piercing voicelessness.
My mouth emulates in "O".

She calms my soul and I look ahead
At the empty nave
The wine of yesterdays can be tasted in my deep sorrow
The blood of Christ,
It once comforted the indoctrinated obstinate child
Cathechized, proselytized, immunized...
That died forever ago when pain was hurled and replaced with shame.

Remembering the unknowing Father Buenaventura
By rote instilling guilt in a guiltless guileless soul
His dead face laughs at me in my dreams, you know.
He didn't know.
Preaching genesis to my barren hunger when I knelt before him
While I pounded my heart with my fist in mia culpa, mia culpa, mia culpa
With bowed head in reverance.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned."
Mia Culpa
Mia Culpa

My, but the Sisters of Charity cackle in the front pews,
Salty matrons with breathy whispers
As they turn to leer at me
Their habits askew
I know they are long gone now.
Dusty crusts the earth they have returned.
St. Anne Seton cradles them in her ample bosom.

I feel safe here.
In the shadow of innocence.
When I walked a mile upon gravel and pavement on my knees
Beneath the scorching sun.
A God's wrath.
A good little angel being told "It's for your salvataion"
A payment for your indulgences.

My tiny voice sung "De Colores" with such exuberance!
Inculcated with persistent instruction.
And Father Kelly played the bagpipes upon the grass in the rose garden
Away from the rest of the brown sinners.
He, in the comforting shade.
Instilled with the Higher Power,
To his utter delight.
Wailing ululating Irishness howling out of his mouthpiece.
Such joy to my bleeding ears.

All mixed with the Yaqui Fariseos
And the matachines and deer dancers
Pounding the dust of long past Good Fridays
Where has it gone?
I am left empty, barren,
To remember
That it all touched me once.
Goodbye grandmother.
I wear the lace veil now.
No great-greats to teach the Word
But I will breathe the incense for you
I know you will cry tears at my grave.
We'll both sing Hallelujah when you grab my wrist again.


© 2011 Zollies-Spot. All Rights Reserved.