Analysis of Grandmother's Rosary

As I sit in my dark room
67 degrees fahrenheit
My teeth mindlessly grip around a rosary I found at the bottom of my junk drawer
Under the birthday cards I cannot seem to discard of
Under the baby photos I glance at every year or so
Under the nail clippers and crumbled up math notes from 9th grade

And I wonder to myself; is my comfort falsified?

And I remember the feeling that I got when stepping into a cathedral
It was a chilly day in Washington DC, I was thirteen

The windows illuminated red from stained glass
A consolatary type of silence
My lacrimal glands dampening-

Did I feel the presence of God or mere human history?

And I remember communion back in elementary school
Why does the blood of Christ leave a burning sensation in the back of my throat?
Yet the body is digestible and sweet; sacramental bread
-It melts on tongue and leaves the stomach unsatisfied

Even the body of Christ wasn't enough for me
And    I never understood why we only sip the wine; why would one drink without the purposes of getting drunk?

My lips curled tight around each bead
The contrast between cold metal and warm flesh-

For religion only offered me comfort
Never atonement
Never contentment

I tucked the rosary back into the junk drawer
And fell asleep.