Where We Sit

We got here late and it was very crowded.
It will be hard for anyone to remember us
in the church, listening to the Christmas music
and the priest.

Where we sit,
a priest is not a saint, a saint is not a prophet,
a prophet is not a messiah, a messiah is not a god.

We have gone on very long
without a beginning.
Our lives require a grain of salt
to understand.

We are not the center.
We may not even be loosely affiliated
with the heroes of our situation.

The church only has two bathrooms
for its two hundred pews.
We keep it quiet, but in private
we turn green nature into black shit.

You can sound that out for yourself.
It means what you think.

Colin Dodds is a writer. His work has appeared in more than 250 publications, been anthologized, nominated and shortlisted for numerous prizes, and praised by luminaries including Norman Mailer and David Berman. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife and daughter. See more of his work at