Tues., March 3

Between the fellowship hall and stage
in the basement of the church
where i grew up
was a curtain.

Maroon,
heavy cloth,
thick with rippled
folds that drew back on either side.

We would play during meetings
and programs, dashing
inside and outside,
light to dark.

When i went
to Jerusalem,
and visited a church,
the Cathedral of St. James,

Lent had just begun, and custom
was that a curtain was drawn
across the iconostasis.
It was the same one.

Only added, a dove
embroidered in the center,
and stark against the solid background
were two candlesticks, and an open Bible.

My friends were sorry, sad that we had come
when we could not see the regular glory
of golden icons and ancient carving;
but I knew what stood behind.