It is Sunday again and
Her red doors open, like arms of welcome
Offering a haven, safety, acceptance.
Church is a she and she is a lover that takes you in
Envelops, even as she frees
Come home
Leave your sorrow, shed despair as you find a home
This home of red.
Red, red, in the windows, on her toes.
Her lips, red, slightly open, she speaks
Words of wisdom, strength and hope
Red on the walls, covering the age, harkening the blood.
The blood of martyrs, the blood of saints.
Are women martyrs?
Martyrs that bleed in penance
Red in the arches, in the curves, yielding spaces
Red that flows and flows and flows
As a single river down the center aisle
Into hearts or into minds
Or so they say
It is Sunday again and
seems like it’s going to be a red summer
AlwaysTanis 