wisps of my mother’s Latin
haunt my head while
my fingers caress the water’s surface
and I cross myself
In the name of the Father, the Son
et Spiritus Sancti
in the sanctuary, old women
peppered across cedar pews
rosaries wound round their knuckles
chant to our Lady
making grace bloom in my dusty heart
though I never belonged here
as a child, I prayed to the moon
and now leave witches’ ladders
to unravel back into the earth
in the ivy patch behind my shed
yet the quiet feeds me
musty incense
cool granite pillars
still whisper a little like
the divine in the tiny girl
corners of my mind
God is not the building and is
enough to get me through
with some kind of peace
until evening
Jeanette Barszewski received an MFA in Poetry from Brooklyn College. Her poems and short fiction have appeared in Literary Mama, Cooper Street, O-Dark-Thirty and Elixir Verse.
Jeanette is a queer writer currently residing in Hamilton, NJ with her family. She enjoys old-lady hobbies like gardening and making art out of pressed wildflowers. You can find out more about her at www.jeanettebarszewskiauthor.com