Sunday means school, too, Sunday School it means,
and Miss Hooker, our teacher but more mine
than my classmates' because I love her like
I'm in love with her, which I am, and she with
me, though she probably isn't but I
pretend she is and pretend in dreams, too
--last night she died in my sleep, she got run
over crossing the street to fetch the ball
that I threw easily enough for her
to catch but she muffed it, put her glove down
when she should've turned it up, a sinker's
what I was aiming to throw. I didn't
see her get smashed--I had my eyes closed, kind
of bat-blind and the Hell of it was I
was the hurler. I ran into the street
and got run over myself, that's justice
and later maybe mercy because I
dragged my broken self, broken heart and all,
over into her lane just in time to
apply the tag of my lips to her lips
and hear her moan I think that was a passed
ball and to say to her, Maybe not, wait
until we wake up dead, we'll know for sure
then, God being the Official Scorer.
But today in Sunday School Miss Hooker's
back in one piece--I can't say the same for
me, how busted-up I am about her
all dying like that in last night's dream and
I woke before we went to Heaven, if
we did. I'll bet she did but as for me
here I am in Hell again even in
Sunday School class. Miss Hooker died for me
and there she stands. It's a damn miracle.
Author Bio:
Gale Acuff, Ph.D. has had poetry published in Ascent, Chiron Review, McNeese Review, Adirondack Review, Weber, Florida Review, South Carolina Review, Carolina Quarterly, Arkansas Review, Poem, South Dakota Review, and many other journals. He has authored three books of poetry: Buffalo Nickel (BrickHouse Press, 2004), The Weight of the World (BrickHouse, 2006), and The Story of My Lives (BrickHouse, 2008).
Dr. Acuff has taught university English in the US, China, and the Palestinian West Bank.
and Miss Hooker, our teacher but more mine
than my classmates' because I love her like
I'm in love with her, which I am, and she with
me, though she probably isn't but I
pretend she is and pretend in dreams, too
--last night she died in my sleep, she got run
over crossing the street to fetch the ball
that I threw easily enough for her
to catch but she muffed it, put her glove down
when she should've turned it up, a sinker's
what I was aiming to throw. I didn't
see her get smashed--I had my eyes closed, kind
of bat-blind and the Hell of it was I
was the hurler. I ran into the street
and got run over myself, that's justice
and later maybe mercy because I
dragged my broken self, broken heart and all,
over into her lane just in time to
apply the tag of my lips to her lips
and hear her moan I think that was a passed
ball and to say to her, Maybe not, wait
until we wake up dead, we'll know for sure
then, God being the Official Scorer.
But today in Sunday School Miss Hooker's
back in one piece--I can't say the same for
me, how busted-up I am about her
all dying like that in last night's dream and
I woke before we went to Heaven, if
we did. I'll bet she did but as for me
here I am in Hell again even in
Sunday School class. Miss Hooker died for me
and there she stands. It's a damn miracle.
Author Bio:
Gale Acuff, Ph.D. has had poetry published in Ascent, Chiron Review, McNeese Review, Adirondack Review, Weber, Florida Review, South Carolina Review, Carolina Quarterly, Arkansas Review, Poem, South Dakota Review, and many other journals. He has authored three books of poetry: Buffalo Nickel (BrickHouse Press, 2004), The Weight of the World (BrickHouse, 2006), and The Story of My Lives (BrickHouse, 2008).
Dr. Acuff has taught university English in the US, China, and the Palestinian West Bank.
RSS Feed