The Writer's Voice

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Geraldine Cook Davis

The following is a prose poem

The streets of De Beaupré lie silent
as footsteps enter one of the 
most noted churches in Canada.
Testimony to healing, crutches, canes,
braces hang or lean against 
walls and on the altar.
Tearing eyes peer at imported Italian
marbled flooring underneath 
beatific statues. Gold bedecks
the lifeless forms that stand
in pious purity.
The church houses fortunes untold,
made so from the sweat of the meek.
Arms spread, voice shouts, "No!" 
as it did in the temple of the money 
"Not for this," eyes sweeping
the wealth in a town of poverty,
"did I sacrifice my life."

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