REFUGE
by Linda M. Rhinehart Neas
The church was dark,
smelling of incense and beeswax.
Silence spoke from
around the pews and pillars.
This was a blessed place –
Refuge – holy ground.
I sit on the altar steps,
too young to know the
forbidden.
Mary –
mother, maiden, queen, crone –
hovers above me,
blue mantle, outstretched arms.
Such sad eyes,
I think,
sad perhaps because she knows –
knows the pain hidden deep
within my tiny body –
the pain stuffed deep down
within my soul.
I wish I could climb up in her lap –
the need for mother comfort
as palpable as the cold marble
on which I rest.
Outside, rain, children’s voices, seagulls
Create a backdrop for my prayers.
Inside, in the silence,
I hear the softest voice,
“You are safe… rest… you are safe…”
“Momma, I need you…”
“I am here…hush…rest…”
I lean against the altar rail,
eyes closing,
heavy with sleep and burdens
too terrible for a seven-year-old.
Silence, warm and protective,
wraps around me
like Mary’s soft blue mantle.
Fear dissipates like
the heavy incense –
gone, but with a lingering scent,
gone, but ever-present.
With a start, I wake.
Alone – still –
but for the silence.
Looking up,
Mary’s eyes,
Soft with mother love –
tell my child’s heart
“You are home.”
