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Saint’s Tribute

Dedicated to and with help from the writers studying abroad in Rome, Autumn 2018


A bird flies onto the ledge of the church’s window.
The sunlight the window casts over a painting on the inside
is superimposed with the bird’s shadow.

Inhale the wood of the pews
wetted from damp autumn thighs
and dried again, a hundred times over.

Whose is this? Saint so-and-so?
They all blend together
(“Maria” is always a safe bet)

But they each have their own flares in my memory,
like the flicker of votive candles
reflecting off the cheeks of a praying woman.

One is gilded in El Dorado magnificence
and LCD moonbeams make it glitter.
Was that where the bird was?

An uneven squeak of shoes echoes on marble—
an man with a limp, hushes when
he gets down to pray.

Green and purple shafts of light
coming from the stained-glass windows are
like a manufactured Aurora Borealis.

My favorite: starlight on the ceiling
painted in gold
lights up when the clouds pass.

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