Like a Day I Never Knew

Sunday, an old hat, strong perfume drifting
          like incense over the altar and pews.

Stop this ritual. Take back
          its Latin chant. I say the rosary.
I cover my head. I put coins in the collection
          plate when it’s passed around. I do
my penance. I eat Christ. I recite along with
          everyone when the priest cues. I genuflect
and make the sign of the cross.

          I wonder if God sees me among all
these people, if I’ve made
          an impression on him. Do I feel blessed?
Is the light more than sunlight, the rain
          more than water rushed with wind,
a storm retribution I have read about?

          When I watch the world on TV, I see
the masses, blessed and unblessed.
          My holiness is a large bell
struck. Watch the pigeons flutter off,
          the wings beating, the rhythm of flight,
as each attempts its own life.