Someday Sunday
I stand in a church a world
apart from myself. The familiar
service fills me with sighs and
am surrounded by people in pews.
Was it only yesterday
I asked the quiet cashier questions,
waited while a car forced its way
ahead of me, smiled at hardworking
lawn cutters leaving a wake of pollen?
How to find these people in the pews
the same as my encounter in the world?
Are they wanting in their deserving
an acceptance of their brokenness?
They and they again materialize
as my flagrant bias lifts.
I am one of the many,
yet few so hungry so thirsty.
Was it only Tuesday I sat
at the Local Dish eating the
pork belly of a poor dead pig now
digesting until we are part of each other?
Was it a week ago in church, take
eat chew taste suck swallow, take
drink smell savor drain digest
partaking of Another?
Of all the billions on the earth
of all the moments of geological time
are we with each other,
are we all about each other?
Our glasses are too thick,
somehow never focusing on
the here and now in the midst
of centuries of dusty history.
The centuries become generations,
the generations a family,
the family a person,
lonely and blindly privileged.
Splash us with cold water,
Krishna. Pray us out of these
premature graves, devi. Wake
up, wake up! Dusk approaches.
Lee Triplett is a retired software programmer in South Carolina, US. She studied poetry, piano and computer science in college. She lives her life as a poet, voracious reader, mystic, bipolar depressive, pianist, queer and South Carolinian. She immerses herself in poets that attract her and enjoys writing poetry frequently.
Amethyst Review 