I thought the church lived in the buildings the ones with vaulted, ornate rooms filled with women in their best dress and men in their starched suits judging the faded blue of my denim I thought the church lived in the book the one I bought secondhand lugged around every Wednesday and Sunday the book I studied for six weeks before I was allowed to swim in its waters I thought the church lived in the shuffled papers the ones the preacher held in His hands As he stood behind the mahogany pulpit reading out fiery warnings to all of us but mostly to me I thought the church lived in the tiny crackers the ones coupled with thimbles of grape juice small morsels of the Body and it’s Blood that melted on my tongue instantly but did nothing to curb my hunger I thought I’d find the church in the righteous relics the ones with wooden crosses and organ led hymns But the crosses gave me splinters No matter how gently I held them And the music fell deaf on my ears I thought I’d find the church in the blessed virgin the one who carried salvation in her body But she never answered when I called her Mother And though her tears poured over the altar There was never enough for the desert of my skin Mary knew the church lived in the cathedrals the ones found deep in the woods Wandering down an overgrown path Confined only by the pale blue expanse And the echoes of the cicada choir Mary knew the church lived in the pen the one she slipped into her notebook Whose ink flowed a river of prayers And bore witness to the confessions Whispered by rustling leaves Mary knew the church lived in the days of summer The ones with geese flying overhead Their wings flapping wildly like the sound of scripture pages turning Calling out psalms to all of us Mary knew the church lived in the communion The one between her hand and a grasshopper In the consecration of sugar from her palm an offering of selfless tidings From one being of wonder to another I know now the church lives in the bird song the one that delicately carries The Word and in the grove of rain soaked elms Dripping holy water from their leaves I find her there, under the canopy Drinking it all in.