Bells ring through the city:

11:00 a.m. mass.

I am not religious

But church bells are heard

By the devout and lonely both,

So like a fish drawn by glittering bait,

I walk through steep church doors.

But the comfort others find does not find me.

The parishioners all know each other and

I am a stranger by paper cups of coffee.

If God is here, He is silent,

Perhaps expecting more devotion than hesitant curiosity

From a lonely girl.

So I run,

A sinner from the churchyard,

Towards cheaper comforts.

Down Boylston and Newbury

Past stores and cafes and

Stores and stores and stores

Past a homeless woman whose words have the cadence of a hymn:

“Can you spare a dollar? I need a dollar.”

Eyes on eyes, I stutter no, no dollars to spare

And walk away.

Behind me she asks in that same voice:

“Can you spare a dollar? I need a dollar.”

I could not spare a dollar but I have

Forty-five in my wallet, and, seeking existential comfort, spend

Twenty-five on a quiche and sausage in a restaurant

That takes reservations and serves

Olive oil and champagne at breakfast.