No title poem

The priest is taking
I hear
nothing
My hands are clasped
not in prayer
but to stop myself from
shaking
I stare at the glass
wonering where God was
when I neded Him
I’m ten again.
I’m terrfied.
I’m alone.
Papi’s hand rests on my
thigh,
remiding me I’m here.
But I’m not.
I’m back there.
Watching my
watch.
Beging to leave.
Begging not to
break.
God, please.
Not again.