the meeting

you remember
the pentacostal
meeting in a large
hall, the circled
chairs, the lights
flickering. the cold
winter air
seeping in from
the snow covered
streets outside.
there was screaming,
falling, fainting,
hands raised
to the ceiling.
it was frightening.
it was like no religion
you recognized
in your eighteen
years. the speaking
in tongues,
the twirling dance
of loose limbs
and wild hair. you
only wanted to
leave, to flee with
self in tact. then
they all grabbed
hands and you could
feel the strange sting
of something,
something not right.
a dark vibration
that would keep you
from ever going back.