Worship, a poem

For Jesus and the culture

 

There is a

cathedral

inside my purse

church bells

sounding in my

neural pathways

hallelujahs just

underneath my tongue

 

my heels shout

amen

my toes say

glory

my knees creak

with the groanings

of

the holy

spirit

and on church days

 

People look at me

weird

because

I am

barefoot

emotional

and big hearted

 

But I know of holy

i know

that I am

still

sanctified

in overalls

still blessed in flip flops

and I missed

that part in the

bible

where it says

i must come worship

in heels and a club dress

 

I missed that part where

there’s mandatory attendance

and my facial expression must be

just so

 

I opened that book

and I saw

holy

saw Jesus

praying in gardens

healing in homes

doing miracles in fields

 

But somehow

we can quantify whats

more or less

Holy

somehow it must be less holy

to bring praise with my body

instead of my lips

or

to bring body bruised

and lips sealed to the altar

 

I missed the memo

that said church was a play

or a presentation

that I must play my role perfect

 

Please ignore me

I will be in the back

i will show you how my

underarms worship

how my toes say Glory

and my heels

say AMEN

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