Aug 122011
 
Hair slicked, ties clipped
my brothers and I stepped
past the open church door
into the cool basement

Sunday school taught us
about camels, pasted stars
and songs sung while picking
our noses furtively

Standing for our parents,
small bellies out, breathing,
prayers came to silence while
we waited at the white steps

We peered toward the pulpit
dim among purple shadows
where one day mother would lie
dead and straight

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