Postlude
first published by Ekstasis - Winter collection the last note of the old organ lingers holding on to its own, long history— the room fills with that heavy, hanging postlude pause— and the humble murmurs of men pour into the empty space— pasteurized pleasantries float the balcony— down the aisle— through the stairwell— to the sidewalk. (I listen, yearning for the quiet) yet the saturated sounds, the simple harmonies of family chatter, suddenly surprise— synchronize— whisking with the hour’s moist notes and wisdom-wet words, softening my spirit— stirring curdled anxieties and clotted choler and lumped regrets into batters of belief— the music of the murmur melds with Sabbath melody; and its truth solidifies— incarnating into a full feast.
–Lee Kiblinger
