by Jody J. Sperling
Windows know nothing of transparency compared to my wife’s thoughts in this place. She sees that churches were built to make people look up. Their tile floors: unimpressive, beige, unkempt not unlike the ministers who serve there. The ministers who serve there: hidden in the shadows, contemplating their sins, pondering denial, Catholicism, a move to expiate with coins and empty confessions, pining to be one of the saints emblazoned on stain glassed windows. Those windows: reds and blues, greens, golds and silvers, are keepers of the illusion. Church is a quiet place today.
Jody J. Sperling lives in Omaha, Nebraska with his lovely wife, and attends the University of Nebraska, Omaha in pursuit of a Bachelor’s in Fine Arts. His stories and poetry have appeared in Bartleby Snopes, The Linnet's Wings, Eunoia Review, and The Metropolitan.