My Way

 

again,

as a child of church

a returned adult,

drifted away,

but back in the pew,

Spring Sunday, not Easter,

No pageantry,

just the furnace’s stuffiness,

and coldness around my feet

 

almost like a catholic church

(I am not catholic)

one drops in to pray

only passing,

 

the card in pew pocket

I am not troubled by jumbled thoughts,

I have such jumbles.

 

failing to follow the preacher,

during sermon,

during announcements,

during longwinded prayer, involving

“the Sick and Shut-ins,

and those going through trials we do not understand,

but we know God’s grace is sufficient”

 

my soul glazes over:

I wander rabbit holes.

 

(my response to the incredible poem by Rae Armantrout: The Way)

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51513/the-way-56d22f4c66438