The merciful line up before god
eyes downcast
pebbles underneath their tongues
They offer dirt, glass
and the blood dried
in the grooves of their soles
Sun cuts through stained glass
ignites the perfume and gold
marking division
The priest appears
a shadowed figure draped in silk
his words pierce the gathered
and leave no room for doubt
The faithful dutifully sign
across their bodies
and kiss the tarnished crosses
lifted from breastbones
A woman bows her head
remembers her mother’s hands
palms dusted with tierra santa
cradling her face
She yearns for that kind of sacrament
here in this smoke choked sanctuary
Published by Monique Sanchez
Monique Sanchez was born and raised in the high desert of Northern New Mexico, where she lives and writes today. She is of Cherokee, Pueblo, and Hispano descent.
View all posts by Monique Sanchez
Made me cry. Beautiful!
Made me cry. Beautiful!