Two Catholics Meet
Over A Campfire

By Michael Garrigan

The guilt is always there, isn’t it?

a pink sky brushes the Androscoggin

I even rang bells and wore robes.

a loon call creases our cheeks

But it was the way they lined up,


to eat that silly wafer


And I remember asking, wait, is this really his body?


yes, they said.

You know, that’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?
something that shouldn’t need a line or a robe.

she stares at fire collapsing wood.

My favorite part was always after when
everyone shook hands and said
“Peace be with you,”
“and also with you.”

we brush mosquitos off our arms.

I loved moving around in the pews like that,
searching for hands to grab, taking the body.
I miss that.


About The Author

Michael Garrigan
Michael Garrigan writes and teaches along the banks of the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania. He loves exploring the river’s many tributaries with a fly rod and strongly believes that every watershed should have a Poet Laureate. He is the author of two poetry collections – Robbing the Pillars (Homebound Publications) and the chapbook What I Know [How to Do] (Finishing Line Press). His poetry and essays have appeared in Gray’s Sporting Journal, The Drake Magazine, Permafrost, and Split Rock Review. You can find more of his writing at