God’s House

I put sweat into these trails
and the trails anointed me
smudged like Ash Wednesday
led by a blind priest.
Those marks since washed away,
symbolic of my mortality
of the mortality these parks face
the faces passing through them
their biggest threat.

I repent any careless discards
and now pick up the pieces
that others thoughtlessly drop,
purposely ignore the signs:
“Carry in, carry out”
What would they think of me
if I left candy wrappers
in the pews, across plush altars
a burning cigarette upon the cross?

I want to turn this into a longer piece but I am tired now and liked the shortness of this, of basically my feelings when I see trash in parks/outdoor recreational areas/anywhere outdoors. This is our home and church before any building is, this poem just got more the church treatment since my dirty face from working on trails some days did look like Ash Wednesday gone awry.
Creative Commons License
This work by Sarah Holmes is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

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