Prick of the Spindle: Poetry: Anderson: Ghost Town Catholic

© Christy Call , Pirouette

Ghost Town Catholic
By John M. Anderson

Because the priest’s fingers
are ninety they retain
light. The acolyte cups

lavabo bowl in palm
(so young he’s
translucent too) and pours

pure water to wash wriggling
mountain stream sweet-flesh
fish trout-bright

from consecration The chapel
door stands open for breeze
and a bee has found the altar

candle’s wax. This old
singer dries his hands
in linen murmuring

thanks and praise into the pause
lifted like fine traildust a foot
or two. Maybe just a drink to cut

the dust, ma’am, if you please.
the ladies roll forward now
a high blue cloud—dewfall
of the Leadville weekday service.

John M. Anderson teaches at Boston College and spends the summer holed up with his wife, the visual artist Kathrine Douthit, in a tiny dwelling near Cripple Creek, Colorado. They drive around the southwest, imagining. Anderson has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His manuscript of poems about art and the Iraq war era was a finalist for this year's May Swenson Prize.