What They Had
Terry Zimmer, 2010
The usher on the left approached the altar,
draped in mixed furs, dyed, pied greys, to this season’s colors, and
cut square-shouldered, falling below the knees, to this season’s style.
She rotated on one heel and assumed a posture of practiced dignity
as though receiving diplomats, executives and artists into her
well-appointed salon for evening repast and short cello programme. The
cathedral was cold and she stood in her fur because it was what she had.
The usher on the right sauntered to the rail in a faux-leather jacket
that read Sun City Motor Oil across the back, which cracked surface was
interrupted with souvenir patches and an American flag. He turned and leaned
forward, leading with one shoulder, welcoming the good folk to the feast of
flesh and blood a few short steps away, like a used car salesman
welcoming the next prospective deal to the lot. The cathedral was cold
and he stood in his jacket because it was what he had.
The priest stood facing out from the center of the apse, rounded shoulders
giving shape to a gleaming alb and green chausuble and stole threaded in
gold and silver symbols of faith holding up a hand bearing a ring bearing
a gem bearing both heritage and tradition. His words in English echoed
in Latin in the diction and cadence of an engraved invitation. Break this
bread. Drink this cup. The cathedral was cold and he stood in his vestments
because it was what he had.
