There’s holy water beading on my forehead,
Salting up the seam of my lips, clumping my eyelashes,
Streaking my cheeks like I’m crying holy.
I can’t speak Latin but sometimes I can remember how to sing it.
I don’t know what the words mean anymore.
Or maybe it’s that I never knew them at all.
It always just meant faith to me, but I’ve forgotten what that means.
I’ve still got wheat bread body stuck to the roof of my mouth,
I’ve still got bitter wine blood staining my teeth.
They taught me to swallow God whole,
And then they couldn’t answer when I asked them where He went.
-
Author:
marieb33 (
Offline) - Published: October 16th, 2022 13:58
- Category: Religion
- Views: 18
- User favorite of this poem: Rocky Lagou.
Offline)
Comments2
I really love this, thanks for sharing.
As a teen who has to go to church every Sunday with my family this hits close to home. Sometimes it feels like religion is almost being shoved down your throat. That finale: "They taught me to swallow God whole, / And then they couldn’t answer when I asked them where He went." Is so true and profound. Wonderful poem.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.