Sundays

Sundays have been dedicated to God
but I watched him take them all back
dedicate them to his front porch
his guitar
the smoke that exits his lungs
and I wonder
if he can tell the difference?
When God exits him through melody
will he still call it prayer?
Call his exhalation, a begging from his knees
a remembrance to all he left behind.

Sundays, were dedicated to God
what he meant was family
but he never speaks of his father
only mentions mother in passing
on the subject of dancing
repeats melodies as if he’s calling her back
and she repeats prayers as if she’s calling him back.

But it is so common
that they can’t hear each other over the music
that when God speaks in different tunes
he says there is none
and she holds hers closer
lets go of her son in the name of the holy spirit
and he makes his life a crucifixion
but keeps it silent
nails hands to the sound of his laugh
so we never hear it striking.

 
0
Kudos
 
0
Kudos

Now read this

Pride

I sat, Watching her speak. Listening to a story I’ve never heard. The type I read about in those history books I held, Unaware those history books were holding me. Knock, knock, On their door. A search. Findings. A letter from Poland. I... Continue →