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Blue Houses

For

I, too, had a house of blue, where,

Ungrown, I

Lived within (not for) for

So very long that it began to be repressing.  (It was actually just blue trim.)

Or I was growing up.  A

Friend of mine (I grew up for Jesus in a

Baptist church; First

Baptist Church of Charleston, Arkansas, actually), who really loves Jesus,

Or else with whom I was social in my church years because can’t you see 

  the social in

A stained glass window’s hellfire and barnstorming scenes (the ark in the

  background)?

Knowing full well that I was going to grow up to be

A preacher, walking down the aisle meant something serious to me, unlike, say,

Nuns, even though I had a catholic cousin—a whole slew of them, actually—with

   whom I often skipped my senior class after lunch to watch Days of our Lives 

   in her backyard, after dragging the television poolside.  Before which we would     make (and during watching, drink) fresh sangria, dipping our toes into the pool.

Where We Worship