The Herald
Cloistered in the rafters,
a pigeon breaks
the silence of a few parishioners kneeling before a weekday mass
Coo–coo–
Rolls out
through water-damaged holes
from winter rains
Coo–coo–whoo–
Reverberates around the white, flaked ceiling,
the paint worn thin,
revealing patches of sky blue
Coo–coo–whoo–
whooo–
Bounces off plaster angels holding plaster trumpets
Coo–coo–whoo–
whooo—
who–
my hands want to reach up to cover my ears. Instead
I hold them tighter against the back of the empty pew in front of me
as the rafters spin
Coo–coo–whoo–
whooo—
who are you?
breathes into my white skull
who am i
echoes around clay eyes
who?
Trevor Foulstone is a poet from Melbourne, Australia. His poems begin in the ordinary—where a fingerprint, a bowl of ice cream, a priest, or a magpie might reveal the sacred. Through precise, embodied imagery, he explores how physical sensation, moral attention, and grace converge, inviting readers to look again at what is easily overlooked. His poetry has appeared in Wayfare, The Bleeding Margin, and Words of the Lamb Magazine, with work forthcoming in The Christian Century.
