My name is Podrigotumma and years ago I heard Carol and Doffy who was the then British

poet laureate and she was giving a poetry recital in England. She has a famous poem called

Prayer and she introduced this poem by saying, I don't believe in God but one of the things

that I think would be lovely about believing in God would be the sense that there's somebody

listening and then she said, for those of us who don't believe, there's poetry. I've never

forgotten the way that she honored a practice that she is not part of and also at the same

time spoke about how the function of comfort in that practice is something also that she

has found for herself through art. In the chapel of St Mary's by Janika Kelly, I can't tell you

what happened there, why I entered the sanctuary, a non-believer, only that I have been thinking

about worship, the altar of the body and supplication for some time. My thoughts turn as they often

do in this season of absence to my wife and how tired a God can get when called and too

often for a little reason but loneliness. Of course, I don't mean God here, but rather

the woman I love who altars the orbit of my life, pulls me with the density of light toward

her, the draw thinner when she is farther away as she is now. I try to find comfort in the

inevitability of science when what I lack is faith. The sanctuary is stained glass, four

girls saturating it with soft chatter, small parts of Star Gaser lilies, a lace ribbon

for each pew. This place is full of faith in the unknown and I don't know how to believe

and what I cannot see. Tonight I will drive through the foothills and into the valley. I

will try to make a little practice to trust you or with me even though you are somewhere else.

I've been looking forward to this new book from Teneca Kelly for a while and I was so struck

by this particular poem. There's a real poise, a real silence in the middle of it. The

first thing that struck me is the way that the poet is writing about their wife and

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