Ritual

A Boston wind pulls open our coats with confident hands

We continue, set on our destination

For eighty-five cents,

you can travel to a Pilgrims church
or a Puritan

Are they the same?

The benches are just as worn,
prayers just as ardent

I choose to stand on this trip, my face pressed close to the window

So close to the brief breaks of light...

Above,

Below,

Above,

Below

Finally I move from my metal perch, my companion lifts herself up
we disembark

Our quick farewell is unheard,
our fellow passengers are unknown

Pilgrim or Puritan?