Why,
\ndear mother of God,
\ndo I hate your sarcophagus
\nof a church?
\nWhy does it make me so sad,
\nso afraid?
\nIt is because we know
\nand don\u2019t know our destiny.
\nI do not come here afraid of death.
\nI leave that way!
\nI see my blood
\nspilled on the stained glass.
\nI see my humanity rejected.<\/p>\n
I pray nightly to you,
\nand sometimes in the day,
\noutside,
\nin my bed.
\nI sense you with me
\npicking a dandelion,
\nand I am confused
\nwhy people put you in those awful buildings.
\nSing chants,
\nand repeat themselves
\nin some awful propitiation
\nfor simply being
\ntired, sick, stupid, joyful,
\nwanting only to be young,
\nto go on picnics,
\nhave sex,
\nto be relieved of their terrors,
\nand mend their broken hearts,
\nwithout being blamed,
\npissed on,
\ncondemned,
\nunloved for being old or sick,
\nor ugly,
\nor having a screw loose somewhere.<\/p>\n
I know the truth of my life.
\nI need not explain it.
\nDwell on its impermanence,
\nwatching forever approach,
\nand have everything taken away.
\nI love them,
\nand feel you inside me,
\nsharing something beyond my kin.
\nHow to talk,
\nhow to pray,
\nhow to endure,
\nand how to love
\nin the face of my catastrophe.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Why, dear mother of God, do I hate your sarcophagus of a church? Why does it make me so sad, so afraid? It is because…<\/p>\n