THE BODY OF CHRIST
The morning she died, I left the church
early, before the sun rose. I don't know
what made me go. My sore knees. My throat
raw with whispered prayers I heard the echo
all around me. I remember that sanctuary
filled with believers, their lips moving,
their faith so fierce, I, too, could not doubt
that my mother would stand, the swelling
in her arm faded, the snake's poison defeated
by prayer. And so I went outside to the deep
blue sky, where the first animals awake were flying:
a line of geese heading north, their wings
as perfectly aligned as the stitches in a buttonhole.
And I imagined the sky as a coat
and wondered who it protected:
God? Or us from God?
And when I turned back, the mouths
inside the church had changed
to solid lines. The men walking into the morning
did not meet each other's eyes, and
the women were left inside with the body.
Lenae Nofziger
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