Gospel River

Despite my animosity toward Sunday
school and church: the huge helmets of grey hair
capped by tight buns, flung back in hallelujahs;
the spirit-filled oxblood wingtips loping
to and from hard seats, and all the cloth—
giant flowery dresses billowing up aisles,
flapping dark suits and long ties lolling
like colorful tongues, huge smothering drapes
on everything—I loved to sink into rows
of pews with others. Our round backs ached
and stretched against unforgiving waterlines
of wood as we flowed down the river of sorrow
and loss, yowling and drowning like wolves.