Small candles make Sunday difficult parking at the church where my grandmother forces me to look into this place dark as a drive up the coast when night has carried off the beach swings and Jungle Gyms left ice cream and towels in the middle of the road packs of dogs waiting under the guard towers. I know my grandmother's with St. Teresa in the alcove of the 25¢ candles. Beautiful St. Teresa, the nuns said she used crucifixion equipment to stop the ache a martyr waiting for me to light another of the thin matches in the center of my palm. But I won't do it. I lit them all when I was a kid until the light climbed into the hard wood of the pews and I'd lie there stare at the smoke and think of her.
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Warren Wedin email@example.com