mountain I

by Kelsey Lister

I visit the church on the mountain 

stepping in from the rain 

I round the halls in curiosity 

and I should’ve known 

that I’d think of you here 

I have never belonged to religion 

and it’s obvious in my gaze 

my match touches a wick for novelty

in the basement lit by candles 

I forget to tie a prayer to my flame 

so I don’t think it counts 

I’m overwhelmed because it’s beautiful

but I cannot be your eyes 

and a picture will never reach you 

on the last pew in the row 

I wonder where you are now 

and if I’ll go there too 

your heaven exists in a world 

that I don’t believe in 

in a place like this I could almost be convinced

but if I cannot feel god here 

if i cannot talk directly to him 

then I never will 

I focus on the altar 

my last time beneath a steeple 

the priest said god loved you 

more than anyone ever could 

but I stayed up all night 

sorting through the pictures for the slideshow

of the child that grew up 

and died alongside you 

so I have no confidence in his words

I cannot live with your conviction 

though I can sense it in this room 

the faith you found I never felt 

but here I must be close

Kelsey Lister is an emerging poet residing in Alberta, Canada. She has work appearing or forthcoming in Maudlin House, Selenite Press, Roi Fainéant Press & others. You can find her on Twitter @stolencoat.