the party favors in the offering plate seem out of place
though in my imagination I had flung them there
hoping to make God happier, things seemed grim
though we are singing beautiful hymns and Grandmother
plays Bach on the organ as if he were there smiling
I feel out of place I hear God sigh and the stained glass
shines in a different way though He likes my Grandmother's
playing
I'll meet you outside I say to Him as I go in
and then I do and Sunday begins after church
when I go home and find Him again
in my God given family
courtesy of my Grandmother, Grandfather
the genial Sunday chef for brunch
the bacon and scrambled eggs afterwards the
grape jelly like a jeweled glob on the plate
we separate into smaller globs to
spread on buttered toast
garnets I thought after I learned that word.
and now in his tiny rose garden Outside
no petals fall and it is afternoon and
now, I say to myself so happily
and my sister too or we just think it inside
there is no school my favorite dream,
only the roses and this sweet etude of a
heartfelt most Divine Arkansas
sunday afternoon.
mary angela douglas 19 february 2015; 14 november 2023
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