tagNon-Erotic PoetryThe Minister's Husband

The Minister's Husband


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.

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byannaswirls© 5 comments/ 2079 views/ 0 favorites

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