My church is the woods
she said
her words barely audible
among the chit chat garble of other conversations
and the hum and cling of restaurant noises
feta and grilled fish in olive oil wafted from the open kitchen
She sat at the head of the long table
before us amateurish professional poets
imposters?
All our admiration gazes resting on her
silver hair curved neatly below her chin
eyes lingering on my face for a beat longer than comfortable
And while she spoke of all the things I nodded to
I imagined her frolicking among trees
in the woods of her church
whispering divine words onto the leaves
that would become another collection
resting diagonally upon the others
