Poem

Delayed

I remember sitting outside
our town’s First Baptist Church
on hot Sunday mornings
catching prayers
as they slipped out
the vented stained glass windows
and placing them
in a glass mason jar
with a three holes
punched in the lid for air.

The prayers shined a bit
like glow-bugs, like Tinker Bell,
like some deep sea creatures
on National Geographic.

They whirled about
with little murmurs of Our Father,
Dear Jesus, and Oh Lord
escaping out of the holes in the lid
until I released them that evening
to mingle with the real glow bugs
to compare their shine
and whirl and ascent
toward the stars.


copyright © 2018 Kenneth P. Gurney

 

 

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