in the library and
I hear the church bells ringing.
I could be a child again
standing on my grandparents bright lawn
in mid autumn, breeze combing my hair and
numbing my ears, listening to the church
down the road tell me the time.
all my life, all my life, all my life
I am there.

I could count on my hands
the times I’ve been to church.
funerals and wakes and baptisms.
I was never dunked in the water,
never had my bald baby head
smoothed by the hand of priest. ...