My Friend Devon Asks What I Get out of Church by Jon Riccio

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.  

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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.

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