My sanctuary from the sanctuary
was a dim Sunday school room.
I’d excuse myself from service—
to the restroom—to a picture window
in which ponderous fir branches
evidenced the wind. Near enough
the choir loft to feel the math
of harmony in my body, far enough
to feel it in my heart. A man said take
this log, split it open—kingdom of heaven!
Empire’s natural enemy sees power everywhere.
Take the dark light proclaiming rain, how
it quiets the birds. Everything is proof
of something. Why would the bells
of distant grazers awaken me in the middle
of a city? Because it was the chandelier
clinking downstairs. Troubled by
whose footsteps upstairs? My father
never claimed to know God, though he did
see Mozart’s requiem in the restored
Dresden Cathedral and said if there is a soul,
that’s where music goes off like a bomb.
Constance Hansen is managing editor of Poetry Northwest. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Rhino, West Branch, Harvard Review Online, Four Way Review, Cortland Review, Cimarron Review, Vallum, and elsewhere.
Photo by Wyxina Tresse on Unsplash
