poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Saturday, March 19, 2011


How did the sheep get in
the church? They keep coming
until they pack in/and we are/ wall-to-wall
with sheep. No room for pews.

They are not sheep, just cotton balls
glued to Q-tips, some with faces
and others without. This is not a church
it's just a shoebox/ I painted
plastic wrap with tempera to look like stained glass.

Did it work? Can you hear them singing hymns?

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