Yu limps into the meeting-

place, in drenched oilskin, out of

downpouring rain. Kind old dears

rush to ply the newcomer

with cookies and tea, sit down

in silent listening to her

sobs & story through soft slurps

of hot soup and tea; bid her

sit in worship with them all

a while. No word is spoken.

Nor does sermon thunder down

from pulpit. No sweet hymns are

sung. Nothing is read. No prayers

or incense rise heavenwards. Tears

ripple down cheeks as time streams

slowly by. And Yu is slipped

back into her oilskin and

disappears out into night

and rainstorm. ‘Come again soon,’

someone whispers in her ear.

‘Sure I will,’ her lips quietly

reply.

Photo by Diane Helentjaris on Unsplash