Holy Ground

Your anger mother
is as quiet as your hands
folded mutely in your lap at church,
hands which (not unlike your anger)
will not fidget or move a muscle
to do this that or the other,
whether good or evil.

What�s the matter, mother, that you can�t stir yourself
from suburban apathy long enough to rage,
to break all my bones (oh I�ve got a bone to pick with you too!);
can�t rouse yourself
from your greed induced stupor
long enough to knock that grin off my face
to knock me into next week or,
as promised, beat me till I can�t sit down for a week?

In your pew you never miss a beat�-
a bent knee, closed eyes
lowered head, humble mumble,
on-key singing; never miss the slightest outward form
of dignified rectitude
while at home you are blinded to
my hunchedback walk,
and my inability to make eye contact.

Oh mother, it�s not your puckered brow
which worries me so,
but your sour puckered soul,
spit-shined once a week,
dressed in smart garb
to match the solemn decor of our church:
muted colors in tasteful undertones,
non-offensive like your anger
the anger which no one sees but me
and I�m not even trying;

I�m staring at your heels
as we leave the sanctuary.
I blink at the incongruity
of their keen clickety-clack
on cemented walk.

Take off your shoes, mother.
The ground on which you�re standing is holy ground.

Reviews

[DiamondNRough AKA Patty..]

Exposing the truth, some times is so pelasurable when they cover it up and paint on a diferent face for the public to view. Check out my poetry you'll see why I can relate so much to your poem. Great Read and keep healing through revealing.

Safe Hugs

[Poeticpiers]

satirical but accurate view of so called christians who mouth platitudes without understanding