by Rosalie Herrick

 

The church up on the hill Could I go up that hill again

Up the Hill to the church I remember the black grayish stone

If you lean too close as you walk against it, you will get cut open

It was sharp and harsh no escaping it the hill was steep like a mountain

 

That Has no end The rooftop brings you close to the Crosses that sit obediently

On the edges, Perfection surrounded the church on the hill the windows were

Tall and elegant expressing high expectations of all who enter.  The home the

Church on the hill dark tall antique stone surrounding it, elegant and tall on the hill

 

I could stare out at the world before bedtime or sing a song to the world but no one

Could hear me so I would stare at the stars at night as I awaited morning to come

When I put on my blue attire, ate breakfast, and off to school down the metal fire escape

But I had another escape in the attic at the very top of the house closer to the crosses that sat on

 

The outside of the rooftop is where I felt free It was a cold room and the floors creaked no one

Could find me so I stayed quiet as I strayed from the dominance surrounding me like

The hallways gleaming long wooden floors the stairs made of beautiful long spiral wood

Time was taking a long time My life felt long waiting for the day to free myself from the church up on the hill

 

Years have passed I knew I had to go back this time my visit to the church on the hill

Was an easy climb the rooms seemed smaller the halls were shorter my desk was small and?

I was no longer the child who lived up on the hill