His Sermon

View PDF

He says there’s very little truth 
in the world 
and he can’t wait to go out, 
preach, and spread his own— 
like he has the corner on it. 

Very little truth, I wonder, 
and take such pause 
I hardly return to his preaching 
except for the background hum 
of his mellow tone. 

Very little truth 
and I am gone 
to the last time 
the earth spoke 
beneath my down bag 
with the stars overhead. 

The last time I gaze at the mountains
from my dawn window 
and the promise of sun titillates 
my outstretched arms, 
my deep-throated yawn.

The last book I open, 
time for but a few lines: 
            The boundary is the best place
            for acquiring knowledge. 
And it reverberates off the page
all the day long. 

The last kiss my husband gives,
routine, noncommittal, 
part of his slippage out the door
on his way to work 
but the witness lingers 

long after a hot cup of something,
after hours at the kitchen oven,
dough rising to camouflage a counter,
truth coming up 
against the back drop of day.