Sundays after service we would go
home, where I'd find great-grandma
watching what I'd call her
Jesus movies (although one of those
films contained not Jesus but
Charlton Heston - close enough).
Vision blurred by glaucoma,
she couldn't determine if that voice saying
"truly this man..." was the Duke or not.
What happened I wondered, what caused
her not to go? I thought she was bored
with the service just as I was, but I found
out later, as she told me, that her soul
had been set aflame down in a small
community in deepest Mississippi.
And thereafter she was guided by a force,
a particular electricity is what she told me,
that left all her Sundays somber and full of