Sunday Morning Stuck.

.

Sunday mornings automatic

In my youth.

Bathrobe to kitchen to cereal

Brush teeth,  braid hair

Dress shined shoes little hat

With ribbon

Or chapel veil.

Church

Parking lot full, shoes clicking on blocktop

There is my nun scurrying across, navy habit moving

Askew in the breeze black shoes and tights

Like mine.

Pray and sing, pray and sing kneel stand.

Forgive us our trespasses

In front of me, in back of me

Hands folded to heaven

In two straight lines the youngest one was

Amen.

On the roof of my mouth

Look at the shoes going by

Take a bulletin thank you

Smile, hello, linger and stroll,

home again home again

Unzipper this dress tangled leotards bare feet

Pancakes.

Now I would enjoy the pancakes,

My siblings young and happy,

The purpose and the aftermass

Exhilaration, belonging, renewal

Contradictions explained,

Understood.

.

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