Three crosses have been branded into my skin

One my parents' raised me with

One carved and hollow

And one a desperate in-between

Used in the urgent moments of isolation

I suspected I'd find God in my bathroom

As I've worshipped false gods on the unforgiving tile floor

And found sanctuary in the shower

Instead I find glimmering moments of peace in the kitchen

Rather than the screaming choir of ghosts in my bathroom mirror

I find religion in the hidden cross on my mother's discarded necklace

It's weaved into the stitches of a dishtowel I use to dry a glass bowl

It's in the key change of a showtune I can't get enough of

A fourth cross is prepped and heated to join the other three

But I bend and warp the image until it is my own nameless shape