we sat
while they were repainting the room a brighter hue,
as though it would bring jesus into the hearts of children, as though he wanted that--
the color, not the children
i speak of.
you prayed on this.
on thursday nights
they used our gyms and took my money:
breakfasts, sodas and cheap dates to the movies
with girlfriends they
never
loved.
that room;
i sat
and thought as you spoke so deeply of your convictions;
you were to the teeth.
there was death
in foreign lands, and every time the plate
was passed, the pew would sigh
as you gave
again:
your time and blood, your sleepless
nights
and fear.
only to find yourself
unrequited and
alone.
only to find
that life was not a channel of guilt
and we were not
as beautiful
as we would
think.
you missed the point
all together. and i think that i missed mine
amidst the walls of older rooms
with newer
paint.
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