My Friend Devon Asks What I Get out of Church A checkup on my OCD. The “Our Father’s” joined hands, Communion wafer in palm. I draw the line at holy water. Holy? Shouldn’t it be contagion- free? Ah, dogma. I’m not praying against the contraction of a virus. Nor do I adhere to the bulletin’s list of intentions, though please pull through, Sr. Berniece, your kindergarten classroom alphabet with its X xylophone and B bat, where I was safe a year before abused. Devon, I go because it’s a milestone when I progress from holding a stranger’s five-fingered germth to Eucharist between thumb and index. The favor I seek accompanied by Southern pipe organ: His salvage that I survive my head. ![]() Jon Riccio is a PhD candidate at the University of Southern Mississippi's Center for Writers. A 2018 Lambda Poetry Fellow, recent work appears in decomP, SUSAN, Wordgathering, and Word For/ Word, among others. He received his MFA from the University of Arizona.
1 Comment
Tom C. Hunley
12/25/2019 09:30:17 am
I enjoyed this, Jon.
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