I never had a relationship with                     the church

only with their saints as I always       wipe them

with clean       towel my grandma told me to use

there are four of them located in

                every corner of our house

watching me        like a local cctv

Grandma       said they guide us

to live a peaceful life and good health

as St. Raphael       removes my sore throat

and grandma’s leg pain

I never cared to complain

In my mind

       

       that’s their beliefs not mine

but every night       I see my grandma

kissing the saints
 

                            echoing a prayer to each of them

to heal grandpa’s prostate

 

                     I realized that a simple mucus virus

takes one prayer

       

              but a life-threatening

requires every after-dinner

I wipe              the one beside me

And in front of me

       

                     It’s always clean but I always need to wipe it

removing the marks of the kisses of grandma

                            I forgot when was the last time I wiped again

Or when was the last time grandma stopped kissing saints

                                          I only know that saints are still here

standing still

in their golden altars

       

                                                        And grandpa in grandma’s story

relocated to where the spirit of the

       

       wooden saints

live

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