Churchless SundaySotero Rivera AvilésTranslated from the Spanish by Raquel Salas Rivera My artificial arm,carelessly tossed on some couch,can laugh like an aimless shoe,destroyed,thrown to nights and rainin what was once my yard. I understand its ironyand have thought of old almanacs,of dark towels,of whiffs of incense when nuns pass beneath my sweltry window.…You see my artificial armunderstands—it has that supreme ability to laugh when it thinks of the priest and the old womenthat raise their rage and destroy pulpits if they see too few sinners.