He Hears My Children’s Sermon Differently

The new boy can’t sit still,
hair unkempt and beautiful

as a field of sunflowers. Yellow petals
flare and blind towering Goliath

in his mind.
Words refuse to fall in line.

He shrieks, and someone hisses Shush!,
which makes me want to weep.

Boxing his own ears, he slings
a hymnal toward the congregation.

From the choir loft a baritone
calls Settle down! You’ll hurt someone.

His mother rushes forward,
says He loves this story, says,

He wants to change his name
to David.

Half a dozen kindergarteners,
narrow shoulders insufficient

for anything but wonderheaded
buzzing, form a gathered hive.

They call him David right away.

Leland Seese’s poems appear in Juked, The Brazenhead Review, After the Pause, and many other journals. He and his wife live in Seattle with a revolving cast of foster, adopted, and bio children.