She folds her hands and kneels to

whisper these words she's spoken a

million times before

Though rooted in some abstract

faith that renders her incapable of

decision she still feels this twinge of

something

telling her to go home

Home to her children her husband the

stupid pets she so adores the people

next door with their cat that tears up

her garden

How is it that some incomprehensible

deity can pull her from that which she

treasures and draw her to this place

so unfamiliar

to beg forgiveness for sins she has

never committed?

They will call her a traitor no doubt

fallen from the ranks but still she

walks from row to row escaping this

means of communication with only

herself

Leaving behind the padding still

impressed from her knees the

candles still fresh in her mind and

the cross

hanging ever higher

always threatening to fall