Like a grandmother
Kneeling by the altar
Wishing, praying, hoping
Someone is there
Legs crack and ache
Harden wood, harden stone
Never forgiving
For your hard worked knees
And your hard worked back
God has taken them all
And given nothing back
But with a tear in her eye
Still she prays
Her tears hit the cold lifeless floor
Stained glass illuminates
The pathways and doors
Where are you god? Where are you jesus?
No one is here today
And the grandmother feels alone
Children are in school
Parents are at work
The organ is being cleaned
Pipe by pipe
Slow by slow
But the notes come tomorrow
The immigrant cleaner sucks the dust
That came with the revellers
Disinfects the coffers and the hand rails
Fills the holy water
Spills it on the floor
Neglects to clean it up
The priest sleeps in today
Today is not a holy day
So he dreams of jesus lying in bed
His bed, with him
Cuddling and kissing
Spewing forth money
To buy new robes and loin cloths
Lustfully grabbing skin
And pinching with a twist
As the world revolves around
Outside the gothic arches
And limestone blocks
Behold the lonely grandmother!
“God is here on Sundays” she cries
Staring in awe at the walls
“And every other day in my heart.
Why not today?”
She cries for her love
She cries for her children
The upbeat reverie church provides
Goes amiss with the dusk
On Sunday night
The organ sounds
But no fortunate tune
Only a tuning of the notes
And a cackle of witches breath
Hits the ears
Disgusting discordance
You sounded so beautiful at
Christmas mass
Look behind the curtain
And you will find the wizard
Full of hubris and pompous
An atmosphere not bettered
By artists and moralists
Here and then
Sitting alone in the pews
Business begins at nine
The church bells still chime
And like a grandmother
Breaking calcified bones
With the pressure of death
Do you have a year
Or an hour left?
