I leave church at 12:30 Sunday,
Having come three hours before
To practice with the choir and sample adult ed,
Greet parish friends, and transact some church
I took communion and listened to a sermon on the
Received a blessing, but wanted more,
And realize, with sudden dread, the nearness of Monday.
Sunday afternoon needs some rite
To mark impending weekend’s end,
The return to weekday commonplace.
Caught twixt liberty and duty—
Loving one, yet resigned the other to embrace—
I seek a ceremony that concludes vacation and lets me
Some good in coming Monday’s daylight.
I had such rituals in the past.
The end of Sunday dinner signaled that schoolwork could
no longer be delayed:
Rarely did reading and study not consume my time
Likewise in college, I frequented the “fancy”
restaurant after church.
Amid fake palms and parrots, I engaged in repartee and
Before returning to my room to renew the quest to
make the grade
And graduate at last.
I have no Sunday habit now,
Life’s structure having faded
Like the pattern of a garden untended,
Merely hinting of a now-lost order.
But the want of balance, plan, and ceremony, once
Into action demands to be translated
To restore to life some golden mean. But how?