CALL OF NATURE.

A BOY IN CHURCH AND THE CALL OF NATURE IN 1950S EIRE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sit down, sit still and be quiet.
The church is no place for the
Chitachata, Auntie said. You

 

Nodded your head and lowered
Your eyes to your scuffed shoes.
The silence of the church seemed

 

Unnatural, like the silence before
Grace at mealtimes. The aunt was
On her knees muttering, a rosary

 

Between fingers. You lifted your
Eyes to the Crucified above the altar.
The head of Christ to one side

 

As if someone had broken the neck.
The eyes closed in a sleep. The arms
Outstretched like Uncle when he

 

Yawned. Aunt shuffled on her knees,
The fingers working the beads. You
Gave a sneak gaze, then turned the

 

Eyes to the statue of St Therese
Holding roses, the smile holy, the
Hands clutching the flowers as if

 

Fearing they’d be pilfered if she
Closed her eyes. Incense filled the
Church. God’s perfume Uncle said.

 

You felt your knees ache. The boredom
Was creeping in. Your eyes scanned the
Pews, the candles, the flowers from

 

Someone’s wedding becoming sorry
For themselves, the statue of St Anthony
Holding the baby Christ, the man who

 

Worked in Donovan’s bar, his eyes
Closed, the hands tight together in a
Prayer. Mind on where you are, Aunt

 

Muttered, giving you the stare, the
Nudge of elbow. Yes, Aunt, you replied,
Screwing up the eyes, lowering the head.

 

This was not the place you needed to be, 
You muttered silently, you wanted to go
Back home to the loo, you needed to pee.