Alisa Heinzman




The sanctuary’s east wall is largely stained glass largely yellow the surrounding paint yellowed


morning sunlight diffuse but for one pane less than one square foot unpainted which lets pass a blue


white beam









The aisle’s short pile runner stripes to stage-wide stairs the platform the pulpit flanked with


dusted housetrees one hanging cross one white baptismal size of a hot tub where we each in turn


are dunked for the Beloved and each returned to life










We loose our voice in time through plaster through beam through this room and the other noise


carries noise to balcony through pages through teeth to when we once alone born hungry in


caves we drift we wave from this room lit blood thickened









Under pews colorless thread drapes with dust the balcony sits three and three rows here our


family father mother brother and here a family and here another and here a stranger woman


with glass eyes of a bird all rise to leave Morning she says mother holds brother’s shoulder tight


ALISA HEINZMAN lives in Nebraska with Jake Gillespie. She’s an editor for Octopus Books and works for a translation company.