0725 HOURS

 *

After walk coffee

misty morning road loaded

with flushed-out dead worms

Jim Bodeen

16 November 2025

ALL SOULS DAY IN THE PEW

 

ALL SOULS DAY IN THE PEW

Quilts spread over the pews cushion

the seats, spreading over the backs

as sunlight from the east fractures

coming through stained glass windows.

The sanctuary is empty

except for bell choir practicing

before worship. I am the sole

person in the pew.

Karen

is ringing, one in the choir,

holding four bells, two in each hand.

Before this spectrum of color and light

smart phone photos are possible,

and images seem offered

rather than captured. Listening

with my third ear for anything

that might come through

from Mom or Dad, light-altered,

Dad, the quiet one’s been gone

45 years. Mom since 2011.

14 years! These, the hallowed days.

All Saints, All Souls, and candles.

Bart Roderick, the choir director,

takes up bells from an absent ringer,

and he is present, throwing his wrist,

his bell gesturing, riffing with his voice,

while I, in the pew, am always listening

for Karen’s hand-held singing. Right now,

here she is. The sanctuary,

so beautiful. I am dressed for this,

wearing my Chief Joseph Vest,

I will fight no more forever,

designed by Karen, also woven,

a quilt sewn from Pendleton wool,

and I have two pins crafted

from the shieldmaker jeweler--

my friend—Marty Lovins,

pinned near my heart, another vision

added to the stained glass light

reflected on my left, sunlight

from the SE community that raised me

in my working life. This is who we are,

and you are one of us, they said

over and over until I became them.

Oh! the entire choir just broke into laughter.

My vest, too, absorbs light and joy.

What—what is going on here!

Mom! Dad! Grandma Myra. Grandpa Charlie!

This is a medley. Morning has broken.

The morning is coming through the bells.

I confess, Lord. It is not only the bells I hear. 

Cat Stevens has broken in. Yusef!

Jim Bodeen

2 November 2025