On a Sunday Morning

On a Sunday morning
Laying between cold sheets
Wake up with the
Warmth of coffee
Dreams concluded
For just another day

On a Sunday morning
Rise from the mattress
Pace the hardwood floor
Rub the weary eyes
With clammy hands
Heavy breathing
At the kitchen table

On a Sunday morning
Fake a lipstick smile
In blood red
Hair in curlers
And waterproof mascara
Fill the lungs
With nervous air

On a Sunday morning
Behind the steering wheel
No passengers
Pale white knuckles
Misty blue eyes
Like the fog
Of the young day

On a Sunday morning
Knees buckle
And feet shuffle
Toward the tall church doors
Under stained glass
Hold the brass knob
Slowly opening

On a Sunday morning
Sitting in the front pew
Lip quivering
And eyes squinting
Trying to maintain composure
Such an empty
Room of people

On a Sunday morning
Listen to the words
Hear the memoirs
The organ rings
And the choir sings
Interlocked fingers
Shake against themselves

On a Sunday morning
The drive home
Is the worst
Put the car in park
Forehead on the steering wheel
Where do I go
From here?

After that Sunday morning
Laying between cold sheets
Eyes opened halfway
Stare at the shadows on the ceiling
Even though you're gone
Our hearts still beat
Forever in unison.