It was all becoming real.
Do you believe
in God? Not the first
time I was asked that question
Not the second either;
“Do you believe in God?” Who wants
to know? (it never seems to be me)
I’m in the church.
I woke up early, brushed my teeth, took
a shower, threw the clothes I slept in in-
to a laundry hamper, and I am here
barely able to hold a breviary
in my velcro-braced hand
(a fall I took on a sheet of ice
below scraggly grass days ago)
Do I believe in God? Well, when I began to
burn in the right hand, the shoulder, the ribs,
the mysterious spot on the lung, all the flammables
(Abba Joseph rose up, stretched out his hands, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire. Why not become fire?)
after too much typing,
it was all becoming real.