He Read First from Psalms, Then from Samuel.
"It's in these times that we remember
there are no lost causes,"
I would have snickered aloud, if not for the corpse.
"Addicts are but lost children
guided by false gods."
The Monsignor had never been more of a stranger to Mary,
the Wiccan bones in the box down the hall,
Who, like Saul, took her own sword and fell upon it.
He was a friend, though,
to her father, who told him a narrative of the girl,
who handed him a photo,
handed him a mandatory donation in an unsealed envelope.
Robin Sinclair is a genderqueer writer of mixed heritage, currently on
the road reading from their debut book of poetry, Letters To My
Lover From Behind Asylum Walls (Cosmographia Books 2018).
Find Robin at RobinSinclairBooks.com