for Wrigley Field
Clutch the railing up the steps,
shuffle to your pew. Sing
two, a third if blessed. Whisper
“cathedral,” then profess.
We pray, but witness a wake
most days. We slake ashes
onto the track; a loud-
speaker calls us back.
The organ keys strike three,
abide the trinity. On Sunday
dressed our best, we crowd around
the beaming green and rise as one
spirits the blue. Tell me,
what do you do at church?
*Previously published in The McNeese Review.
[Check out Sandra Marchetti's back porch advice]