Today's poem is by Lisa Fay Coutley
Barefoot on the Pulpit
Backstage, we don't kiss for an empty auditorium. We kiss
for strangers who meet and unmeet, the way cobble paths
halt just short of stained glass. Who knows why I won't
let you know me on the porch swing. A flat beer. A story
of a woman confused then dead now gone from you. Now.
Don't speak of what I have in a home so many miles away.
Let's leave this at campus cats and sewer raccoons, that herd
of deer crossing against the traffic signal that never flashes
yellow or red. Here, it's not the stopping that worries us.
We're breaking into buildings when we should be sleeping,
we're scaling fire escapes toward every crenellated ledge,
and when I barefoot up the stairs that wind to the pulpit,
where a whole organ of faces fills an empty church, you ask
how it feels to be there, so much gold, so much breath.
Copyright © 2011 Lisa Fay Coutley All rights reserved
from Hayden’s Ferry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily!
Home Web Weekly Features Archives About Verse Daily FAQs Submit to Verse Daily
Copyright © 2002-2011 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved