Holy Mischief Poem by Sonny Rainshine

In endless suspended animation
the sacred statues in Maria Immaculata Cathedral,
Vieux Carre, New Orleans,
pose, dressed in the wimples and habits
of their time.

Pendulous rosaries of polished mahogany
like berried vines rattle in the quietude
as wind penetrates the sides of the carved
oaken door. The faces of virgins and saints
are ghostly with fleshy paint; the eyes
are glassy and stare out but do not see,
never shut, always questioning.

No question: they seem human,
as if about to speak, or dance a jig.
You have a disturbing feeling that
when you look away, they have moved,
that the sanctuary resounds with
their laughter after you’ve left.