Stained Glass Mind

I was raised to distrust the
theory of God
and unequaled power.
I was raised by displacement –
by immigrant hands and sacrificed soul.
But on occasion I feel Catholicism
pump like blood into my digits and
heart and head.
The religion that my mother begged
to convert into in a communist rule
The religion that isolated my father’s
family to the western barren fields
in a controlled island nation.
I find God in a neighborhood cathedral.
Under golden rimmed domes and renaissance figures,
roman brick and worn bound Books.
Yellow sun and warm humid dusted air.
In my culture I find religion.

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