peaceful dawn of day
waiting for the peal of bells 
to call the faithful

Going to Church

bleached white pigeon bones
resting on the dewy grass
as I walked to church with my family

I stared at the nearly complete skeleton
I had never seen anything like that
in my young life

the form of it's former self
firmly in place
as though flesh and feather

had left for an appointment
the bones were not invited to
I stared as long as I could

until they pulled me by the hand and
I ambled along thinking
about something I can longer remember

bells

The church bells echo through the neighborhood
as they always have. I can not think of a time
where their sound did not punctuate the day.

As a child I always wanted to take the stairs up
towards the bell tower. Those steps were gated
off so I have yet to see them. I thought of what

it would be like to stand by them in their silence,
how massive it would be to stand in their presence
as they were struck and began to fill the world.

Remains

Curved and pointed black iron fences

the parking lot of Christ's church.


Light guards spaces of an absent

congregation. The cross stands


watch as it hangs against the wall.

The parochial school across


the street is guarded in a mirrored

way. An old woman walks her dog


past the statue of a Spanish friar.

We notice each other as I drive by.


Three trees shelter one side

of the church. One of them bears


the initials of five young boys.

The church sits silent late at night,


the praises of holy names live only

on the tongues of sleeping parishioners.