American Life in Poetry: ‘The New Church’
Surely you’ve seen those Japanese scroll paintings in which tiny figures trail up the side of an enormous mountain? Here’s a poem about one such life by Lucia Cherciu, who lives in Poughkeepsie, New York. She gathers an enormous amount of human experience in these few lines. Her most recent book is “Train Ride to Bucharest” (Sheep Meadow Press, 2017). This poem appeared first in the Broadkill Review.
The New Church
The old cupola glinted above the clouds, shone
among fir trees, but it took him an hour
for the half mile all the way up the hill. As he trailed,
the village passed him by, greeted him,
asked about his health, but everybody hurried
to catch the mass, left him leaning against fences,
measuring the road with the walking stick he sculpted.
He yearned for the day when the new church
would be built – right across the road. Now
it rises above the moon: saints in frescoes
meet the eye, and only the rain has started to cut
through the shingles on the roof of his empty
house. The apple trees have taken over the sky,
sequestered the gate, sidled over the porch.
Poem copyright 2016 by Lucia Cherciu, “The New Church,” from The Broadkill Review, (Vol. 10, Issue 2, 2016). Poem reprinted by permission of the author and the publisher. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. We do not accept unsolicited submissions.