The Writer's Voice
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Remembrance
by
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
changers.
"Not for this," eyes sweeping
the wealth in a town of poverty,
"did I sacrifice my life."
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