Heaven and earth do not meet
Within the aging brick
And fading wood
And could-be-more-vibrant glass
Of All Saints Catholic Church

Though that's what they'll tell you

So.

You want to kiss a saint
On her filthy bare feet
And **** the blood
Off her slender fingers

Leave that church
- the doors will open themselves -
And head North

Turn your gaze from the feathery clouds
And the pale sunbeams
In which you think you've spotted divinity

Consider the worms curled in death
Obscured by the heat radiating off the Texas sidewalk
Marvel at how their bodes
have dried in the shape
Of a bishop's staff

Don't pass the king
Emptied of all that was once within him
And you may be in the right place to be spoken to
By Margaret

Margaret is a ******

That's what they'll tell you

Margaret prays for you to be a mother
Margaret prays for you to find a husband
Margaret prays for a father
To give you Catholic babies

That's what they'll tell you

But my mother was born
And I was baptized
On the twentieth of July
And Margaret has taken an interest in me

Because Margaret likes to slay dragons

One childhood morning
On the way to hear one of those puerile homilies
From ignorant Alfonse
While Mary cringed in the pews
Or hateful Michael
While Phoebe rose in disgust and marched to the atrium
Margaret revealed what she had done for me

"I've done more than slay the dragons.
I've stolen your money
And you cannot afford the white gowns they told you to buy
I've melted the garish, yellow band from your finger
And burned your hand with a fiery breath
I've shredded your womb from the inside
With my wooden sword
I've freed you, baby
To love and live and leave"

But Margaret would never say such things
And Margaret would never speak to me

That's what they'll tell you