Corpus Cristi is tomorrow, noon on the dot.

Church bells will chime, ringing in people who will flood

the pews and spill into the aisle, standing room

only. I rub my eyes and blink real hard, making

the bright lights blur. Stayed up all night writing

poems that wouldn’t leave my head, imprinted

on my heart. I stare at the marble floor, tracing

the little rocks with my eyes, trying not to fall

asleep, the homily’s words just a buzz in my ear,

an echo in my heart that I fail to hear.

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