20171017_122215.jpg
The Cupola at St. Stephen’s Basilica – Budapest, Hungary

 

“Remember your baptism!”
said the old man with
arthritic hands, bellowing
from the pulpit.

“Remember…”
I sat in the pew, head skyward,
picking at the curled pages
of the bible.

“Remember your baptism!”
I stared at the dulled (muted)
stained glass Jesus
staring back at me.

“Remember…”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I heard it last week
and the week before.

I sit in silence as he
drones on and on
and on, about what
I can’t remember.

I stand to leave; only
Mrs. Meyers notices.
She glares at me, but next week
she won’t remember.

Outside, the clouds are looming,
grey/black/purple
covering the sky.
They remember.

I get wet, the cold rain seeping
through my clothes, drenching,
soaking, saturating to the bone.
And I…
I remember.

 

much love. sheth.

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