Let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action ~ 1John 3:18
Settled,
Like silt lining a pond or pieces of the Titanic at the bottom of the icy ocean,
DNA Catholics don't see settlement terms as the floating wreckage of our lives,
but as an oil spill that we caused, polluting their mother church, not mine, no more
Smother mothering, abusive mothering, dependent on the tit mothering
I love them and hate them, authority figures, people in positions of power,
who offer life preservers to one another while I sink
After a tornado some homes are found miles away, others devastated and others not touched at all
My phantom life is strewn across the countryside with the bodies of others Monsignor Perp destroyed unchecked, awed, while DNA Catholics saw what they believed,
I run unceasingly, barefoot, looking for my resurrected soul
Carrying an anchor, long separated from the connecting chains called faith
I didn’t lose my faith,
It died a painful, slow death from internal bleeding that DNA Catholics would not see
At first, I carried on as if it had just gone out of town for a brief trip and would come back any minute and we’d be a happy couple again, made for each other,
a match made in heaven, or hell,
It’s all mixed up, like me, in my in-between church,
Where I received Eucharist from a woman priest,
not the smiling round White bishop in his crimson and lace dress
Now I sit holding my dead body in my soul, like the Pieta,
as if I loved it enough, it would come back to life.
That would take an act of god
Who fell asleep at the helm, letting the ship of my life be gouged by an ordained iceberg
And settle at the bottom of the sea