epiphany on the evening shift

Aries M. Gacutan

in this economy the priest needs to be a barista!

he slings hot foam & makes the sign of the cross

over sour macchiatos—the stray cats hear his piping voice

& wander in from the streets

“how the hell are we!!!” he says to the tabby—gives the calico

her almond latte. sings a ditty

with the siamese (“congrats on the baby, best wishes

to the happy couple”)—privately, he hopes to die

having gone to more weddings than funerals

the priest loves & laughs, the priest vapes & fucks

the priest has learned long ago to leave his shame in the grass

he laughs at me when i struggle with the wine for table 6

“there’s a trick to it,” he tells me

“there’s a trick to it but i’ll never tell”

i tell him i’m going to the bathroom

& i shout at my hands so loudly it rings through the walls

when i come back he hands me a drink, no questions asked

& tells me about a leaf he found yesterday

as big as your head!—holds up his own hand

to illustrate. a customer thinks he’s waving to them

unsure, they wave back

my family passes down religion like a gift card

on christmas—like a tree dropping its leaves to the asphalt

prayer is a cousin twenty years my senior

i’ve never been to a funeral

“how was mecca?” i ask my dad—

he shrugs off the question as if it’s a coat

& he has just come in out of the cold

“it was good”

good: like pasta

good: like god

it’s autumn now

& soon the trees will bare their bones to the sky

& flex their fingers under sunset’s orange glow

i have decided that people who work by a lake are luckier than most—that

people shouting at you for dumb shit is inevitable

that putting up the chairs at the end of the day is inevitable

but that getting to see a rainbow is not

i tell the priest about my view of the sky from the floor

& he smiles & presses his palms to his chest

like his own ribs are the warmest things that have ever been

“this is my favourite part,” he confesses to me

when all the customers are gone. “i love to see it”

—the lights above the lake

the lights across the hanging glassware

the lights above the entire world

ARIES M. GACUTAN is a poet and digital creator who also does other artsy things for money. They were a recipient of the Emerging Poets Residency in 2024 with Red Room Poetry, and are the current facilitator of Toolkits: Digital Storytelling with Express Media. Read about their escapades at "thearieszone.neocities.org".