Sunday School
I muddle through the lesson
as though muffled by wool,
drowsy in this warm room.
I am less herder of sheep
than distracter of cats—
dangling threads to catch
and draw thoughts,
offering tidbits to tempt finicky
noses turned toward phones
or inward daydreams.
If I could, I would switch
metaphors midstream
to icy mountain waters
gathered from trickle to torrent
that cannot be crossed
except by plunging in.
Such a swim would smack us clean
of muddy mires.
We could settle breathless there
on green-treed banks
and fish the day away.
Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry
Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com
