Half-heathen, half-jester

This fourth day of April was warm, almost 80 here today, luckily the humidity is low. The birds were showing out, the trees blooming, church bells were pealing and Jerry called me a heathen for finishing my last bit of landscaping,  requireing blocks and fast setting cement, on Easter. Like I care, like he hasn’t gone into hundreds of churches (hyperbole? maybe) and NOT been struck by lightning as we enter. Yes, I do have a tendency to view these “houses” of worship as missed opportunities. I want to ask my neighbor so badly if the extension on her church is to house people. But I won’t because I would be obligated to go to the other churches and ask what they do with their tremendous amounts of space. And my neighbor’s church (literally she’s the senior pastor) feeds people every week and they scrambled to make it all take away for the past year. 

It’s all in half-jest. Amen.

Today I found another poem from the MOOC and it made me think, my brother doesn’t show up in a lot of poems, and I’m almost certain this might have been one of the first; I’ll spend tomorrow pondering.

Excercise 5 

We shared endless days of catch in the field
beside the barn. The smack of ball to leather glove,
what sufficed for sibling love, witnessed only
by crowds of cattle and the bored stare of lambs.
 
I had a super arm, a deadly rocket swing
but, being a girl, I never had a chance
to charge the plate or lead a team.
 
He went onto summer Little League, then an All-
Star in Babe Ruth. Of all those hours we worked
at play this truth still holds me hard, I turned away
and those innings I never saw. I turned away
from the game and in that turn abandoned him.