January 31

In front of thousands on a Sunday

the Pope at the Vatican released two doves.

He rang a bell, sang Hail Mary

full of grace the Lord is with Thee

and then a crow and a seagull

swiftly out of nowhere

ripped apart the doves,

the pontiff still huddled at the window,

the crowd below

shifting and whispering.

I’m in the living room

reading aloud the news from Rome

when Josie tells me he hates

poetry readings. Says that’s where poets

drown their poems

in the lake of enunciation.

Or slaughter them

with the dull blade of poetvoice.

Guess I agree, I say. But maybe

these events are like church,

sometimes tedious

but reflecting a desire among the faithful

to make a sacrament.

Josie shrugs. We aren’t churchgoers.

Almost 9 pm, and I’m finally hungry.

Saltines, banana, chicken noodle soup.

Hunger a limit, a violence—

but it is life calling.