Let Us Pray

When I was a kid I was forced to go to church.
Protestent
Nazerene to Church of God, after we moved.

Two times I won awards for being...
most godly?
nicest girl at the church campout?

A bible and a ceramic clown. The clown
had a sad face on one side and a happy face on the other.
I kept it in my room and let it show my mood.

I never had buy-in to the whole church thing, but I was a good girl.
In the round church I watched the hanging lights
determining who would get it if they fell;

watched the ushers pass the golden plates
you couldn't hear the change fall for the felt bottoms.

Each sermon ended with Let Us Pray
followed by a solemn song calling the sinners to the front.
Or the heartbroken.
Or the ailing, the sad, the hopeful, the saved?

My eyes took in all things in that vast room as I waited for the
doxology
my favorite song (it sounded like Halloween to me)
and those three words that ended the hour and
called unto the needy kneelers;
the pastor making his quota, I thought.
To me, that was his mission each Sunday;
to have his words place desire in someone's heart and use
it to pull them to the velvet benches.

What did he whisper to them?
What promises did he make on behalf of their desire.

Since

last Saturday my mind is racing
my heart is leaning way out the window
experiencing intermittent cloud cover

Since last night
I've been more free
and wondering how to make the world open
up for me
throw up a new way

Since last night in my kitchen
it has been all I can
think about doing
making
collecting
exploring
being
giving
and it feels good

Since my mind is racing
and my heart fell out the window I've
been hoping for a spring to erupt and
give it back to me
slightly altered but
recognizable

Since I last thought of it
it's been 3 minutes and it fueled
all the last stanzas