All my men bowed
heads, lived between
wooden pews, claimed
sins they confessed
to no one, mouthing
words with no breath,
lurking behind my closed
eyes, waiting for me
to look back and see
them for what they
really were, not fathers
or fathers of fathers,
just men in my memory,
waiting for the sermon
to end, scared and ready
to scatter, escape through
that door behind them, to vanish
into brilliant sunshine.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 2.
Richard Dinges, Jr. has an M.A. in literary studies from University of Iowa. He currently manages business systems at an insurance company. Roanoke Review, Gihon River Review, California Quarterly, Pirene’s Fountain, and Illya’s Honey have most recently accepted his poems for their publications.
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