Church Poem by Jenny Kalahar

That first note of a low-sung hymn
raised questions, a catekim
a continual feast to a questioning mind
a soul so quenched it could never be blind:
This should have been my life in church

Instead, I sat in flat-ironed skirt
and starchy-smelling, buttoned shirt
I thought of how the wind outside
was perfect for a kite or ride
or anything but sitting, blue
upon that dull orange-cushioned pew
wishing my shoes didn't pinch
hating church inch by square inch

That first press of a hand to mine
words of peace being with me, so divine,
a prayer again, an endless stream
giving direction, giving comfort to me:
This should have been my life in church

Instead, I thought of Shirley Temple movies
I was missing at home, of all things groovy
a Sunday morning could have meant
and the offering money I'd have spent
the bike ride, the books I could have read
but there I sat, in church instead

Jesus loves the little children, I was told
so why was I thought to be too bold
when I asked why He didn't want us to spend His day
running around outside to play
instead of stifling hot and bored
grumbling at the unfairness of the Lord