I collect religious objects. I hunt
thrift shops, scout curbs, scavenge back
alleys.
At this common alter I offer pencil shavings
in an urn half full of unknown
ashes.
Lead and fingernails track
the prayer rug, constitute my
sacraments.
A few of the trinkets are precious, a couple
rare, but all are
broken.
My traveling communion kit’s blood bottle is
missing.
There is a natty stain on the felt from the
letting.
The missing pieces render my collection
worthless.

Still, these imperfections summon in my sleep
and from their absent places
preach,
their message creaks beneath
the footsteps of my
faith.

Chicago Il. April 9th 2013 Napowrimo day 9

© 2013 Abby Smith, Writer