The church in my hometown is burning. The parishioners watch, weep, as the smoke billows higher and the wind threatens to carry the flames. You can see the clouds from miles away. “From four towns over,” they’d say on TV. A woman in town was baptized, married, had her babies baptized at that altar. She says nothing. When the last flames have been put out, all that is left is ash and soot. 200 years of god fearing. Souls saved and sins forgiven. Nothing more than ash and soot. A shard of stained glass catches the sun. The church in my hometown burned and all we did was watch.