poem

De-consecrating St. Columban

A last Mass, a chord to punctuate the

end of the hymn, Eucharist removed, grim

organ harvest, body cooling, rendered a sad

empty vessel, an afterthought really

to the messy celebration of the

lives and deaths, beginnings and ends, joy and

pain, the song and dance, the sound of many

small bells rung together, droning Cessna’s

landing nearby on warm summer mornings,

front doors thrown open to Eton, Jack huge

in cassock and sandals, great bald dome to

focus our attention during countless

homilies or dancing with surprising

grace up the aisle to the alter, center

stage for him where he performed for us our

favorite scenes on a bare set, holding

babies aloft, tempering unholy

Church intemperance with humanity.

They’ll salvage the pews, rescue the stained glass

and puzzle over a priest who won’t leave

the stage, proclaiming the Mass continues.