Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “take the phrase "(noun) in (location)," replace the (noun) with a noun, replace the (location) with a location, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.”
Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “For today’s challenge, write a poem in which laughter comes at what might otherwise seem an inappropriate moment – or one that the poem invites the reader to think of as inappropriate” based on Charles Simic’s poem “The Melon.”
There were probably many times in my life when I might have engaged in inappropriate laughter. But the one time I mention in my poem is the most memorable. You know how sometimes you just can't stop laughing, even though you know it's horribly uncool? This was it. Again, a curtal sonnet on both prompts.
A Child’s Funeral at St. Agnes Church
It was in fifth grade, I think. A second
grader at St. Agnes, a girl, had died.
I don’t remember how or why. It hit
all of us hard. The whole school, eight grades, went
to her funeral one morning. “Abide
with Me,” we sang. When the priest raised the host
and the altar boy rang his bell, Byron
whispered to me, Answer the phone! We died
laughing, couldn’t stop giggling. Our classmates
glared daggers. For weeks after that, Byron
and I were outcasts!
—Draft by Vince Gotera [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
St. Agnes Church, San Francisco (click to see larger)
Here's what Alan wrote me about his poem today: "I think I managed both prompts today, Vince. It got me to thinking about inappropriate sounds, and, well, it being right before Easter, I thought I would dive in."
Belching during Grace
Decoration Sunday,
the church where my dad’s bunch
came from, everyone back
to remember our dead,
and we all shared potluck
in the Fellowship Hall,
some of the families
cheating with KFC,
most of the older folks
bringing in homemade foods
that my cousins and I
snatched bites from if we could
avoid watchful women
shooing the flies away.
I had found an ice-filled
galvanized tub of Cokes
and grape-flavored Nehi
in a congregant’s truck,
and some of us cousins
managed to drink at least
one of each in quick gulps
before the grownups knew
where we were. They called us
in for the blessing, air
still as a tomb—no fans—
and the young minister
began to pray as if
blessings came by the word.
The grape Nehi and Coke
did not mix well. I felt
desperate urgency
to release a huge belch
and could not yet control
it as I learned later
by clenching my teeth tight
and seething through my nose.
It reverberated
from the sheetrock ceiling
to the concrete floor, loud
as a bray, as the scrub
of a bumper against
a driver’s side fender,
as a window sash fall
when I was sneaking in.
The minister resumed
his prayer. The “amen” said,
my grandmother pinched me
so hard on my upper
arm that she drew blood, blue
marking me for a week
afterwards. She’s buried
in that cemetery
I often think about
and visit when I’m back home,
and I imagine she
loved me in her own way,
even a wretch like me.
—Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
So cool and also hilarious that both of us wrote about childish infractions in church and the consequences that followed them! Great poem, Alan. Thanks!
Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks!
Ingat, everyone. ヅ |
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2 comments:
I think it's funny that all three of us wrote about making inappropriate sounds in a church. This exercise seemed to beg for a narrative poem. Nice job, both of you!
Thank you, Bruce!
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