...home.

• thelink

• Play

• home...

• thelink

• Play

• home...

CAST

Chorus
Prophet
Apostate

Behold — the Prophet.
If you know the words, you are the Chorus.I testify as the Apostate.
The foolish man built his house
upon the sand — and the rains came
tumbling down. The rains came down
and the floods came up —Some people notice my favorite backpack
and ask if the lamb’s hands are tied
like some BDSM shit — I tell them,
“she’s just Catholic,” and show off
the little hand-woven cross at the end
of the silk cord affixed with safety pins.
I’m often asked if I grew up Catholic — I say,Not really.I think, “It’s not that simple —
My mother grew up Catholic and carried
the shame of her rigorous confirmation
gifted to her by the mother who taught her
to teach me — maybe it was during
a family home evening — that the sand dollars
that hide within the sands from the other
folk that notice that they are whole. Those
sand dollars with something to offer that only
we know the secret to are worth breaking
beneath your thumbs — shatter into pieces.
Those doves descend down upon me — Holy
Ghosts to witness my baptism of snowI baptize you for and on behalf ofEven muffled, their crooning deafens me,
don't force them to hide. Mom witnessed
as a thin silver pin bearing the name of Saint
with just as much ritual. She traded stained
glass and familiar crucifixes for an iron rod
and walls thorned with wire-thin fibers
just sharp enough to entice you to stand up
straight. Even in the hallway, within these walls,
stand up straight. You don't have time to rest.Put your shoulder to the wheel -- Push alongI don't know why I did it so often, so obediently,
begged so much for her attention when she
spent most of those weekly three hours
crying about Dad’s excommunication
alone in her car without me. I don't call him
Father, ever, whether he’s here or in Heaven
I don't even know a single letter or number
of his home address, his name is not home
to me either. I don't want his last name either.
Why did we wait to sever it?PleaseBe reverent.Maybe I hoped she’d learn about me
secondhand like I would eventually.
We can learn magic in folk we do not know.
Do you know the word for this divine messageBibliomancyWitchcraft.is the art of picking scripture out from its story
and assigning to it whatever context we chooseProclamation to the FamilyI think it was magic when I noticed the tall pipes
of the organ in a church I’d never been to
looked like a pride flag finally bearing my name.
Does they taste better on your tongue
because it’s a secret
third option you can stick to reliably
because switching between She and He
and Him and Her and They and Them
just as quickly as you think I changed my tone,
is too hard for you? Is it too hard to picture me
as a Father someday? If I’m too loud,you’d likely rather see that one in Heaven.Magic can look a lot like acceptance
in a place were really weren't expecting.
I beg my roommates to be kind
to the uniformed subjects of Project Stargate
and to remember they only think of somewhere
that they have never been. They’ll probably
get the details wrong sometimes. They are still
trying their best — Project Stargate only ended
because the white temple claiming Godhood
decided their unreliability is unusable.Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
help me find the way — teach me all
that I must do to live with Him someday.Comfortable clothes don't show respect.
Arrive in anything too flashy, too revealing,
you are not worthy of respect. Too prideful,
conceited — Behold
the mouthpiece of God. God’s voice can
only be that of a man’s, God forbid you
can't fit into our definition of Mankind. Strip
your vocabulary into only that which is reverent
and keep your volume down. We don't raise
our voices here. That's not our kind of church.
Your only parade should be your procession.
We don't clap if we hear something that touches
our souls — God’s mouths are involuntary —
keep your hands firmly pressed together
and spill your heart only to yourself — that mind
should be good at remembering by now,
you’ve already reached eight years old so you
are accountable and should understand by now
cry only within the walls in which you pray,
and ask your Bishop what you should do
about it because crying is not Holy here
unless they come from a Ghost. you
don't deserve to be a God yourself
until you are in Heaven. Make your own planet,
but don't get so angry when someone shows up
knocking uninvited. After all, we have your home
address within our back pockets — but
don't think it scripture. You don't just get
to make up your own scripturelike the first presidency. Make your existence
cryptid — hide where they will never find you
and make sure those who speak your true name
do so with a declaration that they believe
that you exist — become Cain.Don't think too hard
about when they call you Bigfoot.Goliath too was brought to his knees
by one smooth stone cast at his head
Tell me — was David sinless then?
Before he stepped into the bloody baptism
called Bathsheba, was he not accountable
before he asked her to come in and accountable
for sending her husband to the front lines?
I’m pretty damn sure he wasn't holding that sling
and casting such great aim at seven years oldThose footsteps in the sand
are too big for you to fill — be silence
too big to fillBe silent when they speak
and don't think too hardyou are so luckyto hear Him. Friendly smiles can so easily
stop looking so friendly — Mankind still
possesses canines unless you file them down.
Dowse them in water — maybe then that cleanse
of fire won't create enough embers to make it upPress your hands against the barrier
still small, still unaccountable for your voice
and hope as much as you want for their feet
to stick up above the water so you can watch
their heads go under yet again. Wish and hope
while you can — before you know what it means
to get baptized again. and again. and again.Be reverent.

• home...