Christening

5 hour drive.
5 hour drive.
5 hour drive.
5 hour drive.
5 hour drive.
Late. We are late.
A beard is eating my uncle's face.
(He suffocates.)
A line of white babies.
One by one.
Assembly line of Christ.
A paper dove.
It whispers: "Once the Holy Spirit comes in you, you will be filled with power."
Another uncle, not by blood. He takes photographs, captures images of tradition (repetition repetition.)
Go in peace. Get out of my church.
Barbecue.

Walking

I walk out of my house in sync to whatever music has found its way out of my headphones.
The smell of barbecue and exhaust as I walk the street.
A line of cars in front of the church.
I didn't know that many people still believed in God.
The deliciously seedy back-alleys of Newton.
A wave to the guy who looks like my uncle when he lets me walk in front of his truck.
Tying my shoe in the Jewish Center parking lot.
An old man. His bicycle. His toothless grin.
Inhale lilac pollen and let it settle inside my lungs.
Feel the sun soak into my skin and cook me from the inside out.
Hear the repetition of my own footsteps against asphalt.
Am reassured that things are still beautiful.