Grown Up Woodrow Sitting in One of the Chairs for Elders in the Ridiculous Excuse for a Sanctuary in Brevard County

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

“Reverence my sanctuary”

We wonder how he felt, that Woodrow, when

He heard her singing decades later not

Upon the night lagoon — her sung amen

Inside the tiny church when he then, caught

Up with the angels, high and lifted up

By Wilma’s voice when she was not rowed there

Upon Canaveral’s lagoon . . .  her cup

More like the Holy Grail poured out, red prayer,

Yet holier inside the air of church

Of concrete blocks in Titusville.  He must

Have been transported, older heart in lurch,

And lifted by Apollo-rocket thrust.

  The little son before him in the pew

     Soprano voice shot, true and piercing through.