Outside the Church

The sun is setting on the brick roads around St. Bernadette's. Her statue is next to my car. She kneels before Mary hands clasped, faith apparent. Tonight they prayed -- the young couples toward the front the old people one hand on their hearts the children mumbling to themselves "Lord, make us saints, give us strength to bear the cross." But I could not say the words. I saw the roots of St. Appollonia's teeth clenched in the pinchers St. Lucy's eyes held out before her on a golden plate. So I mouthed them like a coward and fled into the summer air where I thought I would find Your forgiveness. Instead all I can see is: St. Christopher on my dashboard, the burden on his shoulders.