Shrine, derived from the Latin scrinium,
meaning “case or chest for books or papers”
a holy place dedicated to a specific deity
or figure of awe and respect for the purpose
God, the unmoved mover, creator of the universe,
being to whom these characteristics are attributed:
Omniscience, infinite knowledge
Omnipresent, present everywhere
Omnipotence, unlimited power
Omnibenevolence, perfect goodness
Amy, 24 year old poet made in the image of God
I have been building shrines from the driftwood
of my words since the first time I read Neruda.
Towers of Babel stretching toward heaven in every tongue
and stroke of the key I could muster.
In my bedroom, beside the bookshelf,
which covers the largest wall,
are two bags filled with poems and essays,
short stories and receipt paper prose
written with the madness of my religion.
I could line the walls of a house with
words that come like a fountain unsealed.
4. My body is a temple,
as sure as every city is a shrine.
Each vertebrae stacked and covered with skin;
my fingers and hips cry out holy.
The sacred and profane bow to the same God
of solar eclipse and neuroscience.
You may be a preacher with your spiritual pride
You may be a city councilman taking bribes on the side
You may be workin’ in a barbershop, you may know how to cut hair
You may be somebody’s mistress, may be somebody’s heir
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
You’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody
I wake up, and breathe in.
I do not shower. The alarm is off.
The trees grow around my waking and my sleeping.
Fire burns, sends smoke up past the building.
7. It does not end.
This circle of
God and man,
woman, and poetry
is written on the bones
of our dead.
Collect the stories.
Keep holy in a tent
and travel slowly.
The sacred and profane
both built the city.
The driftwood of
body washed up on the shore
of an uncertain earth
calls out for worship.
(Part 5 is an excerpt from Bob Dylan’s “Gotta Serve Somebody”