Close Your Eyes Next Time


Stare at a psalm in the back pew of a packed church,
crane your neck to see the little sister's searching stare,
rock back and forth upon your heels,
bite your nails and
spit
them
out
upon the floor,
tiny crescent moons in a golden sky-
throw away every part of yourself that you can dispose of,
all the pieces that don't quite
fit.
A janitor will sweep them up hours later,
humming Sonata in C Major
in the melancholy stillness of the pews
as they stand vigil for the people who have left
themselves upon the floors.
In the dark of the janitor's absence
they will sing:
"Oh, watch the fire roar beneath the broken sobs of day,
beneath the bird that finds its way home
oblivious
to the sorrow beneath its
feet."

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