Sister Churches

Sister Churches

They stood near enough one another
To be referred to as such, and of course
They shared the same blood. One was made of brick,
The other of wood. The former, newer, 
Was somehow the older sister. They were like women
Of such different complexions no one believes
They’re related. The wooden one got all
The visitors — her stained glass had made it
Into all the guides — while the brick one stood
Empty save on Sundays when her people went
To her for Mass, if for no other reason than that
They always had. Their steeples probed, doubtingly, 
Wounds in the sky they themselves had made.

Then one night the wooden one up and burned.
No, not lightning. Boys were at her side with matches
Just to see if what happened would happen.
At a loss as to where to go, everyone, worshippers
And tourists alike, poured into her sister’s side,
She who they’d always found to be so ugly,
Only to find she was beautiful inside
Like all ugly sisters are.