Which Passeth All Understanding

• Simone Wong, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2022

Hands make a prayer, arms a roof over knees over
Holy ground of skin and bones. Sticks and cobwebs by the
Back pew no one touches during morning mass.
The bells ring during the Eucharist, so the building
Shakes with a solemn gloom. Bring your lips to the Holy
Cup, blood wine, as the bread melts into spit. At 5 pm,
Sunlight fades into pink behind Brooklyn Bridge, and
Stain-glass windows make divine shadows on empty
Pews with a sort of incandescent sorrow. Mourning mass.
The next day, a Bible goes missing and ends up purchased in a
Red Cross by teenage artists. They cut it up and press lipstick
Kisses to passages that now hang on walls while they burn.
While they sin.
Hands make a prayer, a plea to some believed master way up there,
Whispering, take me away, Father, to the still air of the
Cobwebbed church.