Exercising the Priesthood

A Wednesday evening 
down in the back 
of the chapel, we played 
King of the Mountain on the 
steep soft slope; sliding 
stifflegged into each other, 
legs all a tangle, staining our 
jeans a dark forest green. 

Then Ken slid hard into Mike, 
his brother, who hit him back, 
hard. They tumbled downhill, 
flailing, shouting, 
till Rich broke it up. 

They sat there, shouting, shoving, 
when I got up to go home. 
And, walking away, silent 
anger and fear in my stomach, 
I thought of our deacon’s quorum 
the Sunday before, our teacher 
showing us our duties in the scriptures. 

“Do you know,” he said, 
“that you have the power 
to command angels?” I didn’t 
but now I did, and so I walked 
around the rock face of the chapel, 
and knelt 

fervent and unseen.