Angel in a Wooden Bra / Page 17 of 20


	the bones of St. Zita Italian cathedrals are all built in the shape of a cross. and frequently I round the right arm or the left pulpits and discover I am unprepared. I don't expect to find bodies of dead saints kept on in glass coffins with or without their heads or their forearms or their feet which have been claimed by other churches. with or without crowns or death masks in plastic or bronze or wood. I am unprepared to find their faithful worshipers kneeling in prayer gently bathed in the light from the 70 watt bulbs plugged in just beneath the glass lid. the holy easy bake oven, the sacred tanning booth, and after several hundred years, Zita darling, it's time to roll over. yesterday in Rome, a group of German tourists came up behind me while I stood in front of the headless remains of St. Catherine of Siena and they sang a hymn in 4 parts that echoed through the nave. and I thought, hey! us northern European, disbelieving-in-modern-saints, straight-to-hell Lutherans have to stick together here. I can't supply all the necessary disbelief alone.

the bones of St. Zita