In front of the congregation
the preacher asked, Do you believe in your heart,
and I did, but I didn’t
understand why Christ had to die
though they’d explained it to me so many times
they were angry. We are born in sin. . .
After church I climbed the hickory tree
and held my breath as the yellow plane
flew, surprisingly close,
over. That summer the hillside
smelled of smoke, and I sat by the above-ground pool
and cried. The sky was the only grace I could see: blue
and permanently changing.