The sun stretches on a Sunday morning
Across the cyan sky    clouds like quilted pillows
It settles upon the crimson  cerulean stained-glass windows
Of my childhood church  

Before the pastor stands
Behind the pulpit
I exit the sanctuary  

There     outside the ladies’ room
I meet her     seated in a wheelchair 
Skin like orange leather    third-degree burn marks
I ask if she needs help opening the door
Breath faint as a vapor   she says                
                     yes  

She tells me her name
Remarks she cannot continue to live like this
Shares she was evicted       from a motel
Her eyes fill with tears     eyelids build an unyielding dam
I offer words of hope    encouragement
Her tongue tastes them but the mind cannot digest  

I reclaim my seat in the sanctuary
Glance at her      sitting on the other side
Whisper a prayer

Pastor ascends to pulpit     proclaims
Thus far the Lord has helped us
Commands congregation to declare those words
A chorus erupts
Thus far the Lord has helped us  

I encounter her again as I depart the edifice
Sun reflects against stained-glass windows   accentuated with peace lilies
I repeat      Thus far the Lord has helped us
I pray you are going to be okay  

Her eyes fill with tears     eyelids build an unyielding dam  

I hope so
Because I cannot continue to live like this