~STEPHEN BENZ~
ST. AMBROSE'S BOARDING SCHOOL
On the sidewalk leading
to the chapel,
not yet discovered,
Three slaughtered goats
lie in a
triangle.
The knife that slit
their throats
has danced into a snow pile.
Magpies make a ceremonial
swoop
over the carcasses.
Cover your ears, it's
cold. We're
going with the search party,
Scant hope of finding the
missing
children.
Look, their bodies
appear in brambles,
bruised and beaten÷
A winter's mirage, snow
blindness.
Pass on.
Lucifer is the
groundskeeper in his
bib overalls. He grins
From the bed of the
pick-up, selecting
the proper spade.
Here comes the altar
boy, up early;
he's the one
Who will come across the
goats and
run off panting mist.
After the sleet the
buildings grow
an epidermis of ice.
The groundskeeper's radio
plays Agnus
Dei.
The magpies dig in,
their beaks begin
With the eyes and
genitalia.
The search party comes
across footprints
near the transformer.
Electricity hums through
the wires.
Classes begin in
fluorescent rooms.
Teachers take the offering
And lead fervent prayers
against
disease and Moscow.
Candles give off
colored smoke. The
groundskeeper appears
In a cassock humming, Do
you
see what I see?
The goats rise to
attend him. A thousand
magpies cackle up,
Black bullets, into the
snow-white
sky.
The groundskeeper snips
a wire. The
search party sees
A shower of sparks fall
from the
transformer.
The day goes dark, and
now shadowy
forms rise into the swirling
Snow, a loud host
proclaiming Glory
to His Name.
© by Stephen Benz
