The Pastor and His Reconciliation – a poem by Rose Bedrosian

The Pastor and His Reconciliation


Death is giving a party in the fields.
Our priests point out the spot
in the tall weeds. They step forward
in their white albs like lab coats, some
days peaceful as doves. On black-cloak days
they perch like fat crows on the altar.
Those days, death is a punishment, and death’s
party, a wake. Their sermons are true as
harpoons to the guilty heart; then they wait
in confessional boxes with their bandages,
antiseptic, and laudanum chants. On
the dove days they give you purity
and unflagging, full-span hymns. You
forget your invitation, neglect your rsvp.
Your heart, like air in a fountain, rises
up in white pearls to bate your breath.

 

Rose Bedrosian received her B.A. in Literature from UC Santa Barbara, where she edited Spectrum and won The Frank W. Coulter Prize. A winner of The Independent poetry competition, her work appears or is forthcoming in Verse-Virtual, San Pedro River Review, Beatnik Cowboy, and Pembroke Magazine, among others.

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