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Stained Glass Adoremus

By Celia Battson

Illustration by Albert M Nikhla

My God hides in the stained glass

over the last pew.

Even when the sun shines through,

his body is cold and he is dead.

His skin is gray and shimmers

like pond water.

Little sister

wants to shake her girlhood off

like a coat,

but for now

her shoes

will do.

My God watches me squirm

under the incense

as my mother thinks about leaving

after the eucharist.

His eyes are dead,

they hang all sorrowful.

Dog-like,

mourning under the table

at suppertime.

There is no air.

Sweat drips down my back

and I imagine

I am burning.

My God’s head is mounted

on a wreath of thorns

that I think Pontius Pilate pulled

from my backyard.

His sweat is pink,

glazed seafoam under sunset.

My God is burning

and beneath his lacquered light,

I am wreathed in flames.

Little brother sounds out

the Latin on the window

like a love song.

Crucifixo condolore,

donec ego vixero.

Amen.


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Posted On: June 12, 2024
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