HomeSouthern Voiceas they never do.

as they never do.

by Austen Roye

she took the crucifix
down from above her
bedroom door and
put it away somewhere,
some place where he
couldn’t stare down
at her anymore,
it was unnerving,
nobody needs that
kind of pressure.
she took it down
off its hook and
the roof didn’t cave
in, the mirror didn’t
break, the earth
didn’t open up,
there wasn’t the
slightest hint of
tremors in the
ground, not a
single black cloud
and no fires in
any direction that
hadn’t been set
deliberately.
she took it down
and was told it was
the principle of
the matter, the
importance of
confessing
your true
self
publicly.
she took it down
and was told
all manner of
frivolous
platitudes,
all that sordid,
sentimental
crap about
a grandmother
in tears all alone
in the sanctuary
with her beads
and mourning
black dress and
how could you
do this to her,
she’s too old,
you know how
she is, she won’t
let it go, she’s
calling her
friends, she’s
calling the
priest, she’s
up all night
by the candle
chanting at
the ceiling
for your
soul.
But she took it
down and they
all noticed,
everyone
noticed,
they noticed
the cross
for the first
time because
it wasn’t
there.

Born and currently residing in Cleburne, Texas, a small town just south of the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, Austen Roye is the  24- year-old author of numerous poetry collections, two novels and a series of creative nonfiction collections. His past jobs have included projectionist, waiter, copy boy, grocery bagger, bookseller and bank teller, and he’s previously published numerous pieces through Chrysalis Press, Vagabondage Press, Lummox Press and The Battered Suitcase, among other independent literary magazines.

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1 COMMENT
  • Emily / April 6, 2012

    I really enjoyed this poem. Great job. Very moving. 🙂

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