I Pray to You, Saint Peter, Whom No One Loves
by Christopher Honey
Your shrine, behind the temporary font
And portable organ, is clean and trackless.
On rainy nights, Father Gary wipes the wet
Prints leading to Our Lady. No need here;
Your space remains immaculate.
The lectern from which readers recite Paul’s
letters, the Paul who would have wanted you
Dead, blocks the sight of you from this, my pew,
Chosen on Christmas when just one remained
And now my daughter will sit nowhere else.
Once or twice yearly, we are read your Acts,
But you are most remembered Easter season
When priests worldwide remind believers of
That day’s apostasy. I’m someone, too,
Whose leadership is known to falter at
First, second, third time called. Your vacant shrine
Is perfectly placed; perfect for ashamed
Parishioners who want to pray to saints
Who are as unloved on Earth as us.
Christopher Honey is an MFA candidate at the University of Saint Thomas. His poetry, essays, and articles have appeared in numerous publications, including the Pomona Valley Review, the Building Trades News, and Montgomery Living Magazine. He lives in Washington, DC, with his wife and daughter.
