They call me Our Lady's
My arms cold and cinder block
No one wanted to be here
They toppled the gates with their eyes closed
I was home to the chefs and the thieves
And the drunks, and the babies out of wedlock
Now I stand here, cold and alone
Awakened by the wind in the doorway
The little girl in the churchyard
Laughing her way her way through the sermon
The one with the violin
I watched her with great admiration
Her daddy, they brought him to me
For the drink, he loves it still
She has a tune to play for me
But they've made it so much harder to get in here
There is something cold
A blank wall can destroy you
It made everyone so quiet
And I dream of crumbling
So strongly my pipes burst
And the walls fill with water
The quarantine beds and the chamber
To spill out
And be cleaned from the inside
Like sound, like waves
Leave a song on my walls
They'll shed themselves when the prisons spill open
Months of stagnant thick fruit from the womb
It rattles and shakes when the valve bursts
There have been glimpses
Into my quiet moments
The hose just flowing in the afternoon
And on Sundays
I am entirely still
There is joy there