by Janine Phillips
while waiting for a lecture series
i pondered a burning acrid mystery
a subtle sifting scent of smoke
permeated
the old church gathering room.
i asked around and with my query
brows furled
lips curled
but no one noticed this.
just me.
following the trail
beyond the door, up the stairs
the scent was strong.
i asked a man if he smelled it, too.
he shrugged at me
(as men are wont to do).
alone, i took to wandering,
wondering and pondering,
studying the stained glass panes.
i tried ignoring
the wood-tinged burning
but it monopolized my mind,
and left
my stomach churning.
Then I a saw a series of prints-
as if to silence my relentless questions.
The story of the church’s construction
in 1906
and the fire of 1925 cleared the fog.
The smoke faded.
The scent dissipated.
And silence settled once again
around my curious mind.
Janina Grey 