The Language of Sunday Mornings

It was too much of Saturday
to be uninspired

as dog days,

but I was flipping
pages, radio stations
all day

and just couldn't find
the subject of daylight--

Until I heard you,

singing the language
of Sunday mornings,

calling me to confession, as it was
time to forgive

in bare feet, high notes, and coral beads.

It was the same day my husband
caught me singing,

spinning on the carpet like a five-year old
for the first time

and there wasn't as much shame in that--
not as I had imagined.