bottles & steeples
She taught Sunday School for over forty years. The church closed, but she remained. She passed the days drinking wine and playing old gospel songs on an upright, out-of-tune piano in an otherwise empty room. Sometimes she brought out the metal folding chairs and imagined the children were still there. She outlived them all.
Light bloomed and died in the window. The night was its own special kind of prayer. There was no heaven but the comfort of sleep slowly spiraling into another day of sunlight strumming a harp made of dust and cobwebs.