Mag 43 ; Our Church 12/3/10

On Main Street
In a cold rain
I stare up at four tier staging
covering the front of our Church.
No workers today,

The circular Rose window
has been removed
honey plywood covers
its arch, under plastic sheeting
pinned on the grass
by rubble from inside.

I walk around the corner
where dark granite stones are grouped,
binary forms waiting for their numbers.

Half the face lies here,
white veins glowing.
old blocks, all from a local quarry
are not as square
as I imagine they would need to be.

I feel for my key
in a pocket and step up
to the side entrance.
The first light switch ?
it will be dark inside
I have no help from a flashlight.

Inside the reception hall
half our wooden pews
are facing toward the Sanctuary,
Two stout wooden columns
sit like pawns
with paneling flat in front of them.

The air is a mix of welcome
and sacred in disarray.
It is only temporary !
I murmur and turn
walking past the stage,
toward the rear stairs.

The bookstore
with many boxes of donations
have waited patiently
for our attention,
these last six months.