White Spine

Liar, I thought, kneeling with the others, how can He love me and hate what I am? The dome of St. Peter's shone yellowish gold, like butter and eggs.My God, I prayed anyhow, as if made in the image and likeness of Him. Nearby, a handsome priest looked at me like a stone; I looked back, not desiring to go it alone. The college of cardinals wore punitive red. The white spine waved to me from his white throne. Being in a place not my own, much less myself, I climbed out, a beast in a crib. Somewhere a terrorist rolled a cigarette. Reason, not faith, would change him.