At The Altar Poem by MARINA GIPPS

The burlap dress I once wore
carried potatoes.
And this day I had worn it for the church.
A special mass- the Irish priest
up at the lecturn talking to himself.
I remember his eyes-

They grew large when he said 'Jesus'
and small like a rat's when he mentioned
the devil-which was quite often.
The entire town paid more attention
when evil was mentioned.

Standing by the far back entrance,
I was looking straight ahead-
my parents' friends and enemies,
many were whispering.

So I walked down the aisle
and Father kept speaking-
the closer I walked the louder he grew,
and the redder. And the people
were staring at my barefeet and pointing,
forgetting it was rude to point.

All this as I knelt in front of the altar,
bowed my head down on the ground,
with tears of feeling Him in my soul,
making the sermon end in the middle
as I waited...
for Father to annoint my forehead
just before I was taken away.