Photo: Wally Wright
Even in a city of millions
you can feel so lonely
Even with endless adventures
you can feel so lackluster
Walking around Boystown
A hungover Sunday morning
The sign proclaimed:
OUR CHURCH IS COOL
WE HAVE AC
And having been raised Catholic
I felt I’d find comfort
in the rituals
I used to think were boring
So I was pulled into
the, yes, air-conditioned half-light
“Only say the word and I shall be healed.”
It happened to be the
Feast of St. John the Baptist
“I praise you, for I am wonderfully made.”
I still knew the responses
Inhaled the incense
Though the bread didn’t taste like flesh
and the wine didn’t taste like blood
But when the men
in their pageantry drag
Startled me
Sprinkled me
The water ran down my face
I smiled
“What then will this child be?”
For a moment
I thought
I knew.
Wally Wright writes memoir-driven poems about queer life, bad decisions and lingering Catholic guilt. His work has appeared in Star 82 Review, Queerlings, Rat’s Ass Review and elsewhere. He lives in Chicago and runs the travel and culture blog The Not So Innocents Abroad with his husband, Duke.