You Know

Today, I wore white to a funeral,

One for a soul I’d never known by name.

I tore the microphone from the pastor’s frail hands

And screamed to the choir that they had it all wrong.

“Treasure lies in my footsteps!”

I ran out of the church before anyone could seize me,

Stripped myself of my holy robes and danced with my toes in the grass,

Letting it be known I have breasts and hair where it grows.

The congregation circled around me,

Some pointing and laughing,

Others shielding their children’s eyes while unable to break their own gaze on me.

I stopped my flailing and stared back at the mourners

Who were no longer crying and all wore different faces now,

Displeased, disoriented, disturbed, delighted.

What were they looking at?

I knew the answer.

They did, too.

Nobody said a word.

After a few minutes of the nonverbal exchange, some made their ways down the sidewalk,

Heading to places only they knew.

Some went back into the church, none daring to look the pastor in his eyes.

I stood for a while longer until everyone was gone,

Then ceased to exist.