My mother regards my lack of religion

As a choice to abandon our native tongue,

Speaking only as a heretic now.

My faith was never meant to be a hammer upon her traditions.

How desperately I want to piece her heart back together without cutting myself

on the jaded edges of compromise.

Your religion and heart are the same–

Each a rural hometown I send postcards to now.

I don’t worship in the house you do,

And that makes it no less sacred.

You defiant daughter is not the product of a lesser God.

Sacrament is what I call every selfless act someone else has done for me.

I am baptized in the gaze of everyone who sees me as I am.

Every thank you I say is a hallelujah,

Every I love you, an Amen.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s