I Drop My Daughter Off at the Early Morning Prayer Rally
1.
She has forgotten her coat. It’s red, white and blue.
The car radio says an icon is dead: Spiro Agnew.
2.
Suddenly I remember
my eleven-year-old brother,
with whom I shared a room,
kneeling, in his underwear,
to pray at the foot of our bed.
I was ten.
I stood there watching.
I can’t swear by this time
I had given up God.
Maybe just to get this memory back
out of a morning’s fog
should be enough
for me to say
I haven’t yet.
By Michael Burns
