Through the Balustrade

(Back in the spring I wrote about an early memory I had of being in St. Mary’s’ Episcopal Church in Richmond, Va and having the rector give me communion through the balustrade (“Showing Grace and Coming to Communion”). In the post that follows, I have gone back to that experience and tried to represent it in a different way.)—Through the Ballustrade–If you had told me thatMy grandparents had met Christ,I would have believed you.–(They each seemed to have some inside knowledge).–As our light blue ChevroletStation wagon wentUp and then downThe hills out to St. Mary’s(Where the gravelPopped and rolledUnder the tiresIn the shaded parking lot),–I imagined the bearded apostlesWalking in tan robesHeaded west out River Road.–I was not comfortable in the pew:–Clapping my stiff shoes together until told to stop,Feeling the static crawl across my scalp andPull at my dry almost white hair,Trying to be so still that my woolShorts wouldn’t touch my skin.–Not attendingTo the voices around me(Only the rhythms,Only the to and fro,The single sound and the low rumble—The noises grown-ups miss of peopleStanding up and sitting back downAnd shifting to kneelAfter pulling the cushions out),I would stareInto the space that held–Illuminated dust,–Sparks coming into and out of existence,Orbiting,Quietly swirling,Above bald headsAnd permanent waves,And blue hair,And hair bands,And eyeglass chains,And dangling earrings,And pearl necklace silver clasps.–I would try to watch a single speck:One     two     three     lostOne     two     three     four     lostOne     two     lost–Letting go of my mother’s hand,I should have stoodWhen I reached the railing,But I kneeledAnd found myself lookingThrough the balustradeAt gray pants legsOf the gray-haired minister.–I was embarrassedAnd confusedTo hear the congregationAt the small churchLaughing—They found this entertaining.–I did not.–He did not laugh,–But insteadHe kneeledAnd he gave me–The bread and the wineThrough the balustrade.–Grace.——Copyright 2012