Bob Christin, the man behind the movement! That’s right, this is the man
who brought us The Albright Poets, those gifted writers whose work
comes out of Virginia and echoes around the world. You’ve read some of Bob’s deeply affecting poetry here (ADORATION, for Dorothy; For My Daughter) and you’ve read his blog.
Much thought went into what to say about this poem. Bob’s own words
of intro could be their own poem, so they were omitted–no competing
poems here! Maybe the best thing to do with something this visual and
visceral is to let it speak entirely for itself and let readers
participate with the words in their own way.
Out of the Dust
By Bob Christin
The church is full of gray
dust, brown leaves, yellow
scrolls. A hint of incense,
the smell of leather
hymnals. Baptismal fonts dry.
Near the broken organ, a tiny
brown spider spins a hieroglyphic
web. Crickets chant from
worn-out pews.
At night, a ghostly procession
of robed clerics winds through
the nave in silence. No sound
of footfalls. Only the creak
of a sacristy door. No bells
in the belfry overhead. The
choir loft slants unevenly
toward the floor. The wood
of the pulpit turns to grain.
Instead of miraculous
appearances of Mary, the
ministers of this village
disappeared one by one
in full view of the
entire congregation.
No one knew what happened.
Rumors, gossip, finger
pointing. Something
missing at the core.
Round the decay, a plain
young woman in a faded
house dress visits daily,
speaks in a strange tongue
to the bare altar.
I like the way you paint an eerie, desolate picture then introduce humanity at the end. I’m not that great at critiquing poetry, but I know what I like and I like this very much.
haunting, evocative, timeless, Bob. thank you fo an amazing poem.