holy ghosts 

we sunday-schooled into the dark.
by which i mean we held a seance for god
& invited all the neighbors.
once, in the church, i believed i saw
the baptismal fountain full
of leeches. we played tag 
in front of the mary statue.
her eyes bled. she didn't hold a jesus
she held a dove. i have met the holy ghost.
he carried a platter of tooth picks.
then, his face was a pool of whipped cream.
in sunday school we were taught
all the parts of the mass. walked through
the quiet church & saw all the bees
humming in their pews. my gender is
holy ghost. a dove & then a fire.
there is so much kindling. 
gathering around he stained glass window 
& talking about crusifixion. 
i want someone to pin me like a specimen.
like butterflies in a museum. 
who hasn't been crucified anymore? 
if you walk into the wrong store 
soon there will be romans 
casting lots of your clothes. i guess i favor
a god without a face. we sat in a circle
while our classmate laid on the floor.
he was sick. we laid hands on him
to heal him. his eyes become coin slots.
fed him quarters. a tithe is where
you sever the body. a thumb
in the collection basket. the holy ghost
knocking on the door in the middle 
of the night. i speak from
the other side of the door,
"we are sunday-schooling. we are good."
hear the ghost breathing. 
they do not depart. we do not sleep
until the sun is a bowl 
of lemon wedges & the church 
gorges itself on light. 

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