Apocrypha (Gregory Horne)

Posted on June 14, 2014 by in Heightened Talk

Pews 3After Bugs Bunny in Drag

the first real girl

I loved sat at the end

of the last pew

in St Lawrence’s.

Next to her,

her jet black mother,

a great hulk of grief,

a lump of observance.

The sacristy beyond

was a closed door

on my Sunday dreams;

behind it, football calls

and the ‘meep’

of the roadrunner,

perhaps a library

of children’s books

written in 1940s America,

telling older tales of loco-

motives and mesas

and circling wagons.

Doors have never

been more closed.

Frankincense shook me

awake and she with hair

like my best friend David,

prayed, I would say,

for my future.

The homily was science

fiction, classic post-war stuff.

A small gold chalice hid

behind a lace veil

in a small gold box.

A red lamp flickered,

but stayed alight,

with all the intensity

of a stolen glance.

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