At the Baptist Church

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AT THE BAPTIST CHURCH


She should be grocery shopping. 

He, face up beneath a leaky sink

trap, thumbs fumbling with a seal. 


Toddlers ought to be allowed to squeal. 

It is a sunny, November day—

Saturday—which is to say


her 11-year-old brother 

should not feel any guilt for 

thinking of baseball or Pokémon 


as the varsity volleyball team 

carries her past, proceeds to set her

one last time, up front. More 


to the point, the pews are filled

with those who dropped it all 

to be here today, as they were right


to do, despite the fact they can't quite

shake the latent understanding 

that—of course—they shouldn’t be.


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