Amen
On her knees
she crawls;
hands outstretched
in dire supplication
her eyes nailed
to the cross.
Above the murmur
of twelve women
and a thousand
hushed prayers
she can hear it calling.
She drowns the sound
in a plaintive wail
that noone can hear.
She steals frantic looks
across the pews —
anonymity
her only protection —
while beads of glass
in plaster robes
pierce her soul
like thorns
on sacred cardiac flesh.
The smell
of burning wax
makes her nauseous
as the dirty scarlet carpet
hides the crimson flow
from between her legs
and salvation
seeps into the ground.
