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
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.