
If You Turn into Stained Glass, You Must Eventually Break Yourself
By JUSTIN KARCHER
When I think about God
I think Annunciation Church
on Lafayette Ave
in Buffalo’s West Side
down the street from where I grew up
a gothic skyscraper that watched my every move
the church where I was baptized
in the tap water of patriarchy on life support
which allegedly had a secret basement
full of wine, liquor & boy-bones
where allegedly my uncles would go
get saint-smashed & hang out with strange priests
a catacomb where they learned how to be addicts
the church where I confessed my first sin
I told a girl in 3rd grade that she was smelly
her name was Emily
she cried & cried
& I remember feeling horrible
how can people make other people feel bad
about themselves? when the lack of empathy
turns eyes into rowboats, a tidal wave
that betrays your face, where you reach out to shore
but there’s no safe harbor
the church where there was always a garden in gray bloom
which looked like quicksand & for some reason
I had convinced myself that vampires lived underneath it
so me & my cousin would go hunting for them at night
stomping around the garden & destroying the flowers
sometimes a priest would come out & yell at us
sometimes we would burst into flames
maybe we were the vampires instead
anyway, I don’t talk to my cousin anymore
last I heard he became a truck driver which makes me happy
because that’s what he always wanted to do
that open road, the euphoria of gasoline & lifting up
a country, maybe he’s fighting vampires in Ohio
or Iowa right now & I’m jealous because a great frost
has wiped out all the fangs in Buffalo, passion frozen over
there can be no vampires in a city where blood doesn’t boil
there can’t be any growth if there’s self-loathing in the soil
the church where I was confirmed
given the new name of Lancelot
because I thought it was cool
actually, the saint’s name was Ladislaus
some Ukrainian general
who also went by Lancelot
I don’t remember what he did
but I hope it was miracle-worthy
if he wasn’t
well
it would explain a lot
how I’m constantly on the lookout for miracles
ways to pierce the veil between this world
& something else, which is why
I’ve given everything to poetry, to the stage
to mastering the art of conjuring new ghosts
when I think about Annunciation Church
I also think about this one time
when I got the shit kicked out of me
it wasn’t the first time
probably not the last time
but I remember it so vividly
I was maybe 7 or 8 years old
hanging out with my cousin of course
& there were these teenagers roughhousing
in this grassy area next to the church
roughhousing is the only way to describe
what they were doing, because teenagers like them
grow up to be men who can only build
houses that are rough
houses that imprison the other people inside
with bruises & sweat
anyway, so these teenagers are roughhousing
& for some reason I think I can roughhouse with them
I demonstrate this to my cousin
by doing a roundhouse kick
he’s impressed & thinks I’m ready
so we go up to them & I ask if I can play
the teenagers laugh & before I know it
the one punches me square in the chest
& I can’t breathe, prayers lose their momentum
then I’m pushed to the ground & kicked
now I’m crying ‘cause I’m a little kid
I remember staring at all the stained glass
& being calmed by their broken colors
apostles showering with rainbows
the adventures of Jesus look like explosions
but something that you can also break if you’re angry enough
then my eyes are burning
the aftermath of my own personal explosions
then there are more kicks
then I feel my body going deeper into the ground
like a corpse or a vampire
eventually my cousin runs & gets help
eventually the teenagers run off
eventually I cry so much that heat rises all around me
eventually I turn into stained glass
I remember it feeling pretty damn good
anyway, I broke through my own stained glass
when I hit puberty & things have never been the same