Last night a hoot owl sat outside my window
Planted himself dead center in the branches of the dying oak
Said he was there to pave the way for the preacher

My grandfather, the preacher, dearly departed  
A tiny man bursting at the seams with fire and brimstone
Three piece suit, tie, hat, wrist watch, a daily lifetime ritual

Grandfather Jett, not grandpa, pawpaw or grandpap
Referred to as  ‘Brother’ or ‘Preacher’ by most
My grandmother, lovingly called  ‘Sister Jett’,

My father attended church eight times a week
Till, at 15, he graduated and caught a bus up north 
Had enough of invocations, scriptures, benedictions

Grandfather quietly arrived at the foot of my bed
Grandmother stepped in the room shortly after
They held hands decked out in their Sunday best 

He quoted a couple bible verses, sang a bit
She reminded me to stay on a righteous path
Then they took flight beside that old hoot owl

My dad never showed
Guess he elected to sit that sermon out too.