Holy
                             TV Dinner
           Holy
                             Black Friday at PetSmart
 
Say it was for God.
Forgo the funerals.
Make straight for the love-nests.
 
           Holy
                               Tank top
           Holy
                               Posing with fish picture
 
Two-for-one on guns
and engagement rings.
Drag my desire across the floor.
 
           Holy
                               Treadmill
           Holy
                               "Holy, holy, holy"
 
Kentucky-fried lockjaw.
Silo the horses from his heart.
A small-town lobotomy.
 
          Holy
                               Pork chops for breakfast
          Holy
                               Country club pool
 
Five-cheese platter for the watch-party.
Should vultures circle, feed them first
from your ribs:
 
          Holy
                               Sleeping on the couch
          Holy
                               Smoke in his jacket
 
Hanging onto asters for the sake of it.
At the door on all fours, blackbird in my teeth.
Wound so ripe, it preceded injury.
 
          Holy
                             Leaving the lights on
          Holy
                             Taken too soon
 
Graffiti in the basement.
Blue trunk in the waiting ward.
Funny distance turns memory
into dinner for two, the best in town.
 
          Holy
                             Motel bed
          Holy
                             Chainsaw cleaning his plate
 
It's a rag-tag lot-party
at the truck stop off '45.
 
I don't know whose tuxedo wears me,
but I know they died 23 and Just Hitched!
at the First Bullshit.
 
Swore there was a log truck.
Strap snapped, careless god—
 
          Holy
                              Connie Britton eyes
          Holy
                              Helicopter
          Holy
                              Years since I've seen you
 
Eating wedding cake off the floor,
I'm more than down on my peonies.
Eating up the crumbs in the choir room carpet—
 
          Holy is to God on highest.
          Unholy is to the rats under the floor.

Say this prayer until we're summer bugs deep.
Lord, I'm taking whatever you leave me.
 
          Holy
                              Junkyard garage sale
          Holy
                              Gotta go

__

I was raised Southern Baptist until the church learned I liked boys. At the last service I attended, we sang the hymn "Holy, Holy, Holy" by Reginald Heber before the preacher called on us to repent and receive the Lord's Supper. I refused. After that, on Sunday mornings, while my family was at church, I'd have the house to myself for a few hours. I would sing to no one, loud enough to fill every room. If I ever really found God, it was there—in that empty house—and all the broken places that have held me since.