I WILL CROON THE VOWELS
kneeling in church, arm around my angel girl.
my son’s propped up on pew, chewing gum.
the oldest tries to pray, the grownup way.
LIKE THE ANGELS DO
we belt out tunes for thirty minutes,
mama’s eyes closed, one eye strobe light blinking
quiet “sh sh” like the soft spoken wind.
WITHOUT THEIR HALO SWOONS,
those baby bonnets on sideways,
bent, just halfway toward sin,
but precious are those little hands,
look like steeples,
voice chaste as the trio say “amen.”
JUST PLAIN HALLELUJAHS,
“Jesus loves me this I know”
why do children sound heavenly?
especially with eyes closed and
silent snores, tears dripping from mama’s eyes.
WITHOUT THE SURROUND SOUND
swish swish goes the bridal gown -
losing daughters gaining daughter in-laws.
those once bubblegum popping boys,
dapperly dressed up, have made their choice.
EFFECTS, CERTAINLY NOT IN TUNE
and celestial hallelujahs, spur on the stars and moon.
silver spoons saved for christenings,
beneath angel’s wings,
veiling the scarcely innocent.
babies bathed in baptism, as grandma grins,
and prays, shushing the wind.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
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