Even Thine Altars

JL Smither

Yea, the sparrow hath found a house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O LORD of hosts, my King, and my God.  — Ps. 84:3

 

Chickadees peer                                                       
out from his face,
four eyes in two sockets.                                           

The gardener
swings her broom,        
swats the hollow
copper Christ,
pulls nesting tears                                                      

from his eyes.
The host of birds
protests vainly,                                                           

flutters away, beholds
her from the arms                                         
of dogwood and blooming

cherry. When she retires                                                       
for the sermon,         
air hangs heavy

sweet as wisteria.     
The chickadees
wait, then skim to his finger                                    
tips, skip up cross                                                     
arms, squirm under his crown,                                             
and nest in God's skull.   

 

JL Smither is a free-lance writer currently living in Columbus, Ohio who has published non-fiction articles in a variety of regional and industry magazines, and a short story in Kudzu Review. 

 

  

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