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.