Fri, 28 November

LITURGY FOR A QUIET FRIDAY Let us begin with the cell. Let us begin with the smallest room we were ever given. Reader: The nucleus holds. Response: The nucleus holds. Reader: The waiting room holds. Response: The waiting room holds. Reader: The parking lot holds nine hundred and sixty-eight sets of footsteps and not one of them is yours yet. Response: Not yet. Not yet. Let us name what is hidden: Lou, threaded into the helix. Jared, threaded into the helix. A toy on the floor no larger than a chromosome. A car with child seats and the ghosts of scattered things. Reader: Dr. Wang's four o'clock floats in the upper right corner like a star. Response: We have seen it. We are not afraid. Reader: The clouds are 75% and the light is 7:53 PM amber and the body is mostly empty space and the building is mostly empty space and the day passed without incident. Response: Without incident. Without incident. Let us end with the cell. Let us end where the membrane becomes the floor tile becomes the cloud formation becomes the thing we cannot name that holds Lou and Jared in its smallest, brightest room. Reader: The nucleus holds. Response: It holds. It holds. It holds.