my sister got happy...
holy homily! god's gnarly finger poked
my sister in the eye; his hoary hand squeezed
her heart like a sponge! see the tears
flooding the pew where she primly sits
cascading down onto the floor in an ever
widening puddle threatening to soak
the church & all therein with all the
righteousness a nine year old girl can hold.
see her shoulders hunched heaving up & down
like she's trying to bareback buck the holy spirit –
just like aunt mamie & a host of other big boned
legendary georgia women who tried in the face of
impossible odds to shout cute. how dare she get
happy before me? i'm the oldest; i'm the annointed
one (if mama is right) positioned near the cross.
i wonder what filled with spirit feels like?
how does one get happy? maybe rapture is
really rupture! does too much spirit fracture
reserve; make ductile personality flow rapidly,
plastically, forming bubbles that burst into
emotional tempests & torrents of human rain?
how does god pick his vessels? why did he pick
my sister instead of me? getting happy is
preliminary to salvation; signals certain
sanctification. maybe she is gifted with grace,
a spiritual prodigy. but no, god wouldn't do that
to me. he seems to enjoy our balanced sibling
rivalry. i pray it is insight more than envy that
whispers to my heart – that she like a host of
pious georgia women before her has dutifully
learned to fake intense or paroxysmal release.
© Joseph McNair; 1994-2009