A Near Escape

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A NEAR ESCAPE


The intellect, as any older sibling who

knows their work, had nearly closed

the deal. You've been fooled—none of it


is true—yes, you were adopted 

into this mess. The light above the 

altar assumed a carnal quality.


Filing communicants became 

a tie of sausage links, simmering in 

the flame. It was impossible not 


to suspect the priest, at best, 

had been grossly taken, at worst 

was nothing but another imposter.


Who could we trust? And what 

of prayer, when suddenly the closets 

harbor not a single spirit,


only air? The savior, as you'd expect,

was unexpected. A warm, still,

sabbath night, and the biological


explanation for fireflies was less  

than satisfactory. The place was thick

with something thin. We suspected angels.


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