- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Minister's Husband
Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click here
I dial Sunday’s phone
call for muscians
call for flowers
call for the woman who puts it all on paper.
Our minister's husband is in hospice
and I take the pulpit
say the prayers
lead lead lead the people
from casserole and carpool.
We open our hymnals to number 90
All the Gods have been changed to One.
We sing Whitman and Emerson,
Pope, cummings and Dickenson
with piano rainsprings and fluted birdcalls
we sing
if I can help one fainting robin
back into his nest again
knowing there is no nest
there is no stopping this heart from breaking
still we sing as if we believe
we do not live in vain.
They took the minister’s husband into hospice
Thursday morning.
We hold our own hands.
- COMMENTS
Bill Dadaover 17 years agoYou write in a way that allows us to think that we
can 'sing as if we believe
we do not live in vain.'
KOLKOREover 17 years agoIf I ever read about love and trust between community and its leader there it is. The death is not only of the Minister's husband. Every one seems to have been left exposed, at least for a while, nestless if you will. All that remains is to hold together, exposed to our own mortality as we are.
Anonymousover 17 years agoVery lovely and sad ending to this, Anna. Best wishes to you and your poems.
