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    Poetry Archive2 min
    3 reads3 comments
    8.7
    Poetry Archive
    3 reads
    8.7
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    • Pegeen
      Reading streakScoutScribe
      1 month ago

      Sundays at my childhood home involved my dad cooking for a change, my 3 unmarried aunts joining us after mass, sometimes the priest too, a stop at the bakery on the way home and lots of conversations. I loved the tradition, the incense, stain glass windows, music - but not the religion. Now, every Sunday, I can hear the church bells ring from across the river. It fills me with memories but I no longer go to church. Life is my church, sacred and holy. Easy to worship Nature and love the everyday interactions with people. However, I do understand that some need the community of church, which can be very nurturing.

    • DellwoodBarker
      Scribe
      1 month ago

      What else could unite widows, bankers, children, and ghosts?

      And though I had no prayer, I wanted to offer something

      Or ask for something, perhaps out of habit, but as the past Must always be honored unconsciously, formally, and persists On this first and singular day, though I think of it as last.