Chapel Confession

I can hear the clamoring of whoever entered the chapel behind me, after I’ve settled in and seeking my silence.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see part of a walker, the source of interruption to my false piety I’m annoyed by the noise.
I choose not to turn around and offer assistance, but remain in my self-righteous angst.
And now, with her hand and a scarred cane (what a cant too?), she grips the wooden-framed kneeler next to me and with a squeaky plop, falls onto the worn out upholstered seat.
I awaken to my better self, and turn to her with a smile, the one I could have given her minutes ago. “Made it! “ I say.
“Made it,” she replies with a tired smile. We both laugh, quietly of course.
After all, we are in the chapel. Jean E. Taddonio

Advertisement