Mecca Tastes Like Coffee (by Rebecca Chasteen)
Cloud cover is heavy today
drive fast enough to outrun the rain,
make the pilgrimage to that place you’ve always liked,
where it never hits you, where you feel right.
I feel the fog clear when I walk in
the way absolution gets rid of sin,
I like everything I see and hear,
I feel my blood flowing and my lungs fill.
Kiss these necklace beads like a rosary,
touch the walls, drink the sound,
nothing here brings me down
Sacred, I appreciate
sacred can take so many shapes
and is only as sacred as we make.
I don’t speak prayers right now
not that I can’t, or don’t know how,
not that I need stained glass windows, or hymns-
because I don’t and I never did.
Once I’m here, I have room to feel,
sometimes just feeling feels like enough
and it’s all you have to offer up;.
there are some things words just can’t touch.
wherever little altars appear,
lifting precisely the thing you kneel;
perceiving creates, and makes them real.
Nobody said church bells had to ring,
Mecca can taste like anything.