Bell Tower of St. John’s Church

by Molly Burke-Williams

Early spring, rolling hills,

buds just bursting from branches

and I smell green once again.

Passing through a quiet Kansas town.

Not a soul knows me here,

but a farmer waves from his truck all the same.

A sleepy downtown, full of empty shop windows.

Succumbed to desertion-

they rest undisturbed, suspended like dust motes in sunlight.

Like their former owners-

I move on.

The road of entry curves, winding like a river

unveiling the bell tower of St. John’s Church,

tucked just under the crest of a hill.

I pause

breathing it in, lungs as cavernous as a bell.

On exhale,

harmonized clangs bound off the hillside

colliding with my chest.

Each ring, calling me to its source. 

Midday, sunlight streaming in

through windows depicting a kingdom of crowns

and I taste peace once again.

Engulfed in frescoes of water

that drought will never touch.

Time gets caught in their current,

and carried away.

A passing pilgrim

and yet, here

I am known.

Knees sinking like stone, meeting marble.

In quiet, I gaze

upon the thinnest veil in existence.

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Molly Burke-Williams is a poet based in Wichita, Kansas. Her work engages faith, domestic life, the experience of suffering and restoration. Writing from within the Catholic imagination, she explores themes of distortion, healing, and renewal.