Sanctuary
Gathered like prayers in marsh grass,
snowy egrets congregate, seeking shelter.
Bundled in our fleeces, a stranger and I
share this hallowed moment, and watch
prayers take flight.
Un Sospiro
Front row center, I watch Andre Watts
flip his tails, sit, brush dust from the piano,
and enter into relationship with the keys,
playing Liszt. Eyes closed, his head nods,
and his face visits anguish, ecstasy, and play
as his fingers caress, coax, attack, and plunder.
In communion with the music,
in communion with the composer,
in communion with the gods,
in communion with himself,
his cup runneth over
into mine.
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Easter Duty
Wearing chagrin and last year's dress,
I slink into the Christian Science
Sunday-school. Mom makes
me go on holidays.
I look lost and a lady helps,
locates my group's table.
Pious regulars remember me,
know my parents don't come,
know I don't read the weekly lesson,
know I don't report healings,
and know I don't know the Truth.
While the teacher talks, I look up
at the pastel portrait
of Mary Baker Eddy, an old woman,
wearing a high neck collar,
her short hair in gray waves,
kind of a smiling George Washington.
Staring at the words God is Love,
I imagine getting out of here,
out of this taffeta dress, into my jeans,
back to biking in the streets.
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