In my sweetest sad memories I slip my hand into Yours Coming down the red bricks steps Of our church.
In my sweetest sad memories
I slip my hand into 
Yours
Coming down the red bricks steps
Of our church.
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bethsherwood
bethsherwood Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   6 months ago
Memory poem about faith, father, and family. My identity. Finding myself.

In my sweetest sad memories I slip my hand into Yours Coming down the red bricks steps Of our church.

Sitting in the cool wooden pew Running my small fingers Through the suede patch On your tweed coat. Listening to the Catholic prayers.

The other day I read church Should be family, not just the place Where you go.

Maybe that's my problem

My church family is where I grew up But now all it is changed. I live 4000 miles away Disconnected from the church Of my past

Is it really there anymore? Grandmother doesn’t bake the rolls For the church dinners You don’t take care of the maintenance And help the priest. My cousins aren’t running around The hall after Sunday school.

I need to find my way back To my identity But I am afraid Because you are gone; My anchor to my faith.

I go to church and look for Familiar faces. Now even the words have changed But the peace is still the same.

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