Poem #25: 1211 Lillian Street

Concrete stairs lead up, up, up
to the white cinderblock church.
Grass and weeds reach ankle high.
Belief pulses throat deep. Crooked
mailbox roadside, messages waiting
to unfold, to be held. Double doors,
double cross. The family just across
the way whose child went missing
years before. No trespassing nailed
to their tree. Sunday hymns float
to their windows, open but barred.