Wisconsin Barn, Sunday Morning – a poem by Melaney Poli

Wisconsin Barn, Sunday Morning


They are talking about the Church of Saint John
	Coltrane on NPR.
You wouldn’t like how they play A Love
	Supreme in the background
Like crickets, 
	like atmosphere.

I stop at the barn on the way
	back from getting the paper, 
Roll down the window, watch the flycatcher
	sit on the wire, dart along the roof,
Come back again.

After you died we took your Coltrane collection 
	to the public library. I had never heard 
Saint John and yet somehow I knew
	I knew if we had dropped the box
In the middle of the street, there would have been no
	stopping the music, ever,
Ever.


We have been to church. Light in the indigo
	riffs on the Epistle
Makes psalms out of milkweed,
	makes this waste place 
A parable.

If there is an old barn somewhere in Coltrane
	any sun-loved red elegance
Any steel roof elated with light, any timbered 
	vault like a cathedral where
The Irrepressible slides in 
	sideways through every hallowed interval

Hides you, surprises you, well
	you would know.

Somewhere at the Church of Saint John
	they are exalting in God.
A sax gives the sermon
	the flycatcher stitches	
A benediction in the bright air

You would understand.

Melaney Poli is an artist, writer, and Episcopalian nun. She is the author of the accidental book of poems You Teach Me Light: Slightly Dangerous Poems and an accidental novel, Playing a Part.

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