Under the fog of mountains high and cold
My mom decided we would go to mass.
We drove far up the well beaten path of old
To the stone church above the rocky pass.
The congregation stared as we walked in
And lit our melting candles for the dead
Just in time for the service to begin.
The priest screamed out that we were beloved;
Men in the chorus wailed to God their prayer
While folk in the pews tried to reach His ear.
White smoke from the incense strangled the air;
All of us were struck dumb with holy fear.
The priest brought out the icon and I bent
But did not want to take the sacrament.
Katie Barnes is currently pursuing an undergraduate degree at Boston University. She splits her time between Boston and New York, but her family is from Greece.
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