she sneaks upon your shoulder
in fluttering wings of lilac
a small halo perched on her head
the sign of the times where mercy
meant more than the act confession
you start dozing off in your pew
next to your mother who grips
the rosary like a lifeline of absolution
your sister looks at the altar boy
with flushed cheeks and wonder eyes
you scowl in return at the tabernacle
(forgive me father for i have sinned)
the presence slowly pinches your ear
reminding you that it is treacherous
to slumber in the house of the Lord
you try and listen to the priest
but the words sound foreign
and the stifling August weather
makes you itch with the need
to go out for some fresh air
(the priest says to pray)
she grips your hand gently
brushing back and forth
to rein in your wanderlust
remain steadfast in your faith, child