Golden Shovel for Florence and The Machine and Christian Radio

BY SARAH LEDET

the thrift store plays only word fm christian radio and i

scream when lyrics snag on brain folds like keys in cloth pews, gathered

together is me on the kneeler, staring at my own crucifixion, one day You

will save me, here, in this vestibule, here,

in this brocade of avant garde, i found myself, here, i remember all the lyrics to

all the christian radio songs, instructing veneration, instead i hide,

in the racks of clothes once loved by geriatric daughters, worn while bread was broken, from

sinners. golden calves for sale beside sweatshirts, $2.99, if idolatry were that cheap, some

benedictine mother would denounce unknowable God, her vast

lack of opulence, she wants sheep, sells wool, same as used for mittens i bought, unnameable

sacrifice, in an unimportant charity shop, purchased in lack of fear.