declines in church attendance  

i fill the church with whales.
everyone is going to marvel at this feat. 
i invited them with a big pile
of shoes. anything can be communion
when you are an escapee. 
i do not remember what was 
the last time i went to mass. 
my soul is probably full of holes. my soul
is probably not even good for straining pasta.
i do not worry too much about it.
i think me and my family are purgatory 
kind of people. it is always better to wait
than to arrive. i'm sure the afterlife
is a big let down. the whales though,
the whales know exactly what to do
with the big belly space of the church.
tail in the sacristy. their bodies 
in the saltwater laughter. in a way
i have never really been baptized.
none of them ever stuck. my original sin
comes back, primordial & wise. 
the whales are baptism monsters.
i consider asking them for help 
but decide they should just enjoy getting
to be this holy. 
overflowing fountain. they feast. demand more.
i bring them hair & nails. i bring them
wafers & even the advent robes. 
i wonder if i want to become a whale
or if i want to worship one. they tangle.
swell until they break the chandeliers.
become priests in their hugeness. 
it is sunday & i consider giving the homily
myself. standing up at the podium
smashed between whales. 
my own baleen spirit, sifting
in the red velvet dark. i find nothing
but krill & bugs that have drowned
in the church's flood. no one hears me
but the whales. no one 
understands me but the whales.
no matter how much i beg though
they cannot let me be one of them. 
the stained glass is eventually
what will break but for tonight
we are flowered & folded. 
the moon ordains us & shines
in our dinner plate eyes.