June Ellen Smith Poet Narrative

White Chapel

I walk a mile, smiling and smoking
A cigarette. Awaits me are glad-hands.

Preacher explains in terms I know.
For the sermons, is why I will go.

Wearing jeans and a pretty blouse,
I stand and sing along in my head.
Last time I held a note, last song.

Once I raised my hand to have head
Doffed off. It's a choice in the Bible.

God lives. Parks, darks and lights.
Nights are colder, my soul is older.

I eat wafer and drink grape juice in
Honour of my parents, now long gone.

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