Two Poems


On Saturday nights I dream about her,

Miss Hooker, my Sunday School teacher, how

we're married and in our living room and

watching TV, not that we really are,

after supper, until it's time to go

to bed, which we do, in the bedroom we

share, the bed as well, and the darkness, not

the scary kind of darkness where you die

or at least monsters try to jump you but

the darkness that bears a little light, God's

shadow, maybe. And next morning when I

wake I wake alone, in time for Sunday

School and the chance to see Miss Hooker

until another week. She's got red hair

and green eyes and freckles and I, I don't

—but I can get them if I marry her

or on our honeymoon admire them. When

she falls asleep and I'm sure she'll stay down

I'll turn the night-light on and start counting

freckles, I wonder if I'll count them all

and if the universe has one for each

one she has, a star for every freckle,

I mean, then I'll feel like God tallying

all His stars, if that's what He does, or has

some angels do it for Him--when I’m dead

I hope He'll send me on patrol that way

so that it will be like seeing the world,

which I wonder if I'll do before I

die, or better, seeing Miss Hooker in

the friendly darkness, just the right amount

of light to help me see that I'll never

hold forever to her, we have to die