Shadow of owl on the nave wall,
ghost eyes drilling into my skeptic’s heart.
Ears, hidden, catch my unspoken words.

The mother emerges from a dark side chapel.
She is bronze, robust, real. Unlike
those slender, pallid Marys,
she looks up to the challenge.
Her hair flows around her like a shawl.

The son, coppery blue, hangs high in the nave.
He is so skinny. His arms are without muscle.
They form a cross of sorts but one hand
holds—I squint—a golden wishbone?
He is dwarfed by a spiky corona
made from bronzed and gilded fiberglass.

His bald head rests on one shoulder,
signaling defeat. I want to tell him about
the owl of retribution, how there is
no forgiving, no forgetting.

A cappella polyphony swells, rises
to the chancel dome, spreads like water.
I am drowning.

CJ Muchhala’s work has been exhibited in regional poetry / art installations, published in anthologies, print and online publications including Thimble Literary Magazine and is forthcoming in a North Sea Poetry Scene Press anthology commemorating the 20th anniversary of 9/11. She lives in Shorewood, Wisconsin.