A Morning at Church

 
The sun through a pointed  arch
Caught your silver chain, golden hair,
The white of holiness,
A bronze cross.
Candle flames danced orange.
Children gave us red paper hearts.
On the Day of Love we tend to love
Even though it’s only Jesus,
And, waiting to file out,
We dream of more.

Why do you linger?  You're late.
The next group is waiting with open books.
But you stand there outdoors by your car,
Full sunshine on melting snow.
The rich attractive widow
Will not let you go.
In the light I see the ragged edges
Of the childrens’ crooked valentines,
And the paste.  At least Jesus loves me.
I guess.