Make the same flat earth lines
Year upon year
Without uplift from within,
Seismic vibrations long since
Pews half-emptied of replaced knees
And other religions.
What is in your iron core as you put your hands in prayer pose and let the host dissolve on your tongue, grumbling your insides, moving you only to think of the barbecue joint down the road and sinking your teeth into saucy pulled pork,
In only fifteen more minutes
Ten if we skip the benediction?
When the rumble of the Body is a call
To release the pressure
Built by mass upon mass
Ashes upon ashes
Of flesh compacting atop the suffocated spirit,
Accumulating tax write-offs and dust
In dead end corners of your summer house that needs just one more remodel.
And then just one more…
Can’t you cast it all off, erupt from your dormancy, and declare,
“I want You to live!”
I give up church for forty days.
2017, Amaya Engleking