Communion #1

by DRM

T’s communion

When I go to communion hold my hand.

The change in the air,
The rustle of the heavy clothes,
The scuff of shoes against the polished slate,
The solitary cough,
The clap of the wood boards against metal stays,
The mumuring up ahead,
The swollen rotation of the bellows,
The stillness of the lift,
A mirror, and its image,
The shake in my hand and the disquieting
White noise that buzzes in my skull

All confuse me and I don’t understand what to do.

Feb 2009