Sunday Morning Susie

Did grandpa come to get you Were there roses in your hair?

on Sunday mornings.

Back before all this, when you first met, where there still

flower-printed dresses,

shaking hands

holding his, grandpa

in slacks, glasses on his nose and he smiled to see you

he must have tapped you on the shoulder in the pews

He took you to the real church this morning, didn’t he?

Picked you up early – 5:46 – you were sleeping 

got an early start, so you could smell roses and greet people on the way 

be there for prelude music 

and after all these years, he must have carried you in his arms

Real church. in the 

Real place.

the cloudy one i don’t remember, but

warm clear light do i smell

seashells and joy do i hear

someone I’d forgotten nearby

standing straighter

school's out & we're 

(right,)

young again 

and there are

so many togethers no more pain

Grandma, is that you looking around for an organ?

you are peering down at us,

Thank you, whispering to your children

you've gone, on a date with dad and it's about 

time

What do you do on Sundays

in heaven,

Grandma?

Strong feet now, no more falls

peace, 

pieces of living 

bread, on a tray, I had them today 

and as you sat in church this morning, 

i am wondering 

and still wondering,

I’m wondering –

what did you see?

no. i don’t understand how your day has been but 

I     wonder 

if there was a palm

fingerprinted and warm 

(pierced)

Did he hold out living bread and water, to you

no tiny cups and trays this time.

he must have smiled deeply to see you,

enough room in his hug for you and all of you besides.

Now its sunday afternoon. 

Is grandma Susie still sick? my small son asks.

no. She’s all better now. 

I kneel down, so he can see my eyes.