WHERE MY GRANDFATHER
PREACHED
HELLFIRE AND BRIMSTONE
FROM THE PULPIT,
HIS FINGER IN MY APPARENTLY SINFUL FACE,
AS REGULATED.
AND MY AUNT PLAYED THE PIANO SO BEAUTIFULLY.
I, OF COURSE, ALONG WITH MY OLDER SISTER
WAS RELEGATED TO FRONT AND CENTER,
GRANDFATHER MAKING SURE
WE WERE PAYING ATTENTION.
I DID AT TIMES TRY TO SNEAK A PEAK
AT THE SMALL HOME OF THEIRS ON THE SAME LOT,
AND HOPE WE WERE HAVING MY GRANDMOTHER'S
SPECIAL GERMAN CHOCOLATE CAKE FOR DESSERT.
AND IN THIS SMALL LITTLE CHURCH,
THE PASTOR KNEW EVERYONE,
AND EVERYONE KNEW HIM AND HIS.
AND WE WOULD REJOICE IF WE WERE BLESSED
WITH MORE THAN THIRTY VISITORS THAT DAY.
AND, CAN YOU BELIEVE, THAT AT SUNDAY DINNER
I WOULD PRAY THAT MY GRANDFATHER
WOULD NOT ASK ME TO PRAY OVER SUPPER?
HE ALWAYS DID, OF COURSE,
AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF TEST.
I MISS THOSE DAYS
WHERE THE SUN SEEMED TO ALWAYS SHINE,
AND THAT LITTLE PATCH OF GRASS
IN BETWEEN
THAT I CAN STILL SEE IN MY DREAMS.
COULD NOT HAVE SMELLED SWEETER.
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