Walking under the wrought iron
archway to the amphitheater
with its hard Methodist benches,
a dark durable wood
that had absorbed so many songs,
I paused and thought of Daddy
who had missed so much living,
sorry for the irretrievable loss of it.
I could picture so much life here,
bodies packed tight in the pews,
blue-backed hymnals, voices
raised loud and pure. A fellowship
of believers. Now only ghosts
remain. How he would
have loved it. Grief anew.