Fair haired pillars,
they all move in a similar fashion.
Wide confident movements,
that come from always knowing
(always, always)
that they have slightly more limbs
than the others.
Growing in the churches,
knowing all their lives that God
would be between those four walls
on Sunday morning.
That God would excuse their
perspiration
in the summer,
and their drowsy eyes
in the winter.
The coffee
is hot,
and black,
in the Styrofoam cups.
Their cheekbones are high,
and there is sturdy bone in their noses.
They're not quite sure what all of this
(the bitter coffee and the stale cookies)
has to do with theology.
But surely,
it must be something.
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