Three Poems: Molly Kirschner
Virga Let’s see if I can find us some jobs, the young man says to the old one, leafing through the paper. They’re looking for a priest. I laugh from the next table over— an admission I’ve been listening. Now the young one speaks louder for my sake, describes a Gurdjieff class in which students go around in character for a week to cure themselves of rigid attachment to identity. One man, cast as the village idiot, was told to drool on himself in public. Suddenly, no one looked at him! He was free of his self-doubt! I, for one, am embarrassed to be seen with myself whenever God comes into view. I go through my mind as through a bag of second-hand clothes, knowing