Excepting the snowy slick / asphalt I’d hit / the speed limit / and not creep quietly by / the
full funeral home / parking lot on Sunday / morning, then two / lots later the spiderweb / of
tire tracks / outside Endeavor Elementary / where inside new believers sit / on folding
chairs / in a carpeted gymnasium.
I didn’t put these things together / I found them side by side. / Station bound I found / the
black hearse under white / the softening of sound, / slowing of time, / the unseasonal
budding of faith. / I didn’t want to see it either, / it’s just the train / keeps a strict schedule.
Listen / I lost my religion / a long time ago / it slipped out / between pages of Borges / read
in simmering heat / a Southern summer / another kind of limbo. / I tried to hold it on my tongue / but it spilled over / easy as synonyms / or double meanings.
So I’m not telling you this / to persuade you. / Words and bodies / congregate despite me /
for the death or revival / of a thing / like fate or destiny / and I’m saying now / let’s call this
what it is.
Jordan Crook is an aspiring poet and fiction writer from Seattle, Washington. She earned her MFA in 2019 from the University of New Orleans, and her work has previously been a finalist in the River Styx Microfiction and NMW Monthly Muse contests.