Church in a
Holler
He kept an album of “holler” churches,
A photo record, a disbeliever’s portfolio—
Places of worship among pines and birches—
Each time he thought it was complete, bingo!
He would find
yet another one, hidden
In some unfamiliar holler,
As though the many miles he had driven
Were just a drop in the bucket, smaller
Than the eye of
an agnostic newt,
Smaller than the smallest molecule,
Smaller than any doctrine he could refute,
Smaller even than Voltaire’s ridicule.
Always another
day, another dollar,
Always another church in a holler.
Robert Forrey, 2011
