A Distant Hymn He owns a pre-loved sedan the shade of passive beige — not at all rebellious or disrespectful. The four of us push open a dream, a distant hymn to buckle into. Our journey is a shifting map. On Sundays the car sits in the drive, stores up empty praises, fills a collection plate of dim memory. I never heard a preacher’s faux sermon given from the pulpit of a couch — nor mumbling words from keys he keeps in his pocket. The three of us march on wearing the rain of broken umbrellas.
About the Author: A native of Toledo, Ohio, Sandra Rivers-Gill is a writer, performer, and playwright. Her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming in journals and/or anthologies, including Jerry Jazz Musician, Poets Against Racism and Hate USA, ONE ART: a journal of poetry, Of Rust and Glass, Common Threads, Death Never Dies and The Poeming Pigeon. http://www.sandrariversgill.com
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Image Credit: Chase Dimock “New Mexico Cloudscape” (2021)
As It Ought To Be 