Church Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Church

I have seen the coins, stories, two faces
Sun and Moon.

On Sunday with a bag, cheap-black and hanging
And the same with shirt, pants, her left hand
Is glued, disabled and still.

In height short, her face round, nose flat with flaps
Manila’s, Philippines’, in her thoughts work magic
“Children are at home…hungry, and waiting.”

Her weekend is God’s day, she goes church…catholic
Toronto, near Yonge and Steeles.

Three days in a week are the days of the weak
Friday, Saturday and Sunday when the witch
Of Islam, the Jewish, Christians
Find it best for lectures and speech:
“God said so…be patient and forgive.”

Why is God of the poor made of moon?
Why is God of the rich scorching?
(Just the poor)