Ghost Town Catholic by John M. Anderson

Ghost Town Catholic by John M. Anderson

Poetry, Vol. 3.1, March 2009

Because the priest’s fingers
are ninety they retain
light. The acolyte cups

lavabo bowl in palm
(so young he’s
translucent too) and pours

pure water to wash wriggling
mountain stream sweet-flesh
fish trout-bright

from consecration The chapel
door stands open for breeze
and a bee has found the altar

candle’s wax. This old
singer dries his hands
in linen murmuring

thanks and praise into the pause
lifted like fine traildust a foot
or two. Maybe just a drink to cut

the dust, ma’am, if you please.
the ladies roll forward now
a high blue cloud—dewfall
of the Leadville weekday service.

Saloon Doors by John M. Anderson

The Summer of ’89 by Nicole Lee

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