Quite a row of them sitting there
Quite a row of them sitting there
Evangelical Sundays. Church hats,
the feathered grace of women,
their men in undertaker suits,
hardened into dutiful Sundays.
It scarcely rained, the sun
abominable. Taxis shuttled them
to Kingdom Halls, the wooden
heaven, like my grandmother.
The light in the Word. Every day
the light on the Word lengthens
and I write into the earth,
my forked-tongue peninsula,