Praying at the altar of mowed lawns
and bursting hydrangeas, worshipping
the rumble of engines turning over, along
the narrow row of our dead end street,
I drink coffee in the matriarch neighbor’s driveway,
her dogs let out like dandelion seeds.
My son will be late to learn his hymns
but early to learn about wheelbarrow rust
and WD-40. What you put in a wheelbarrow
depends on the project: leaves for the bonfire,
mulch for the roses, children because of course
we have the time. Church is not a building
we visit on Sunday. It’s an opportunity
spread across cool pavement and cut grass.
Megan Nichols writes copy and takes product photographs for businesses local to her. She lives in Arkansas with her son.