Sunday Afternoon

by Jesse Anger

The church dark and ranging,
its trick distances slowing
our steps. Past the pews

a faint light outlines
the altar and the wooden cross.
The triptych window glows

halos and indigo—
we keep to the shadows.
I cradle you like a whisper

from station to station. A sliver
of stained-glass light beneath
your eye. I tell of the river—

the dove anoints his crown
descending through a leaden
latticework cloud. I speak

above your head, my son,
hushed in this empty room.
I do not tell you how

his blood made wine— how
white was not the color
of the lamb, or how many

dead tongues take up
this silence. We leave without
a prayer. I set you down

in the bright hallway with
the sharp white sun
like a wing in your hair.

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Far Too Close is out of print from The Blasted Tree Store.

JESSE ANGER

Contributing Author

Other works on The Blasted Tree:

• SMALL WAR