on a sunday
we went to church
a bit earlier than most
mother knelt down
and in a rare time,
father knelt with her

i could almost feel
my mother's fervent prayer
emanating from
her bowed head,
with clasped hands
she was a sight,
like a rose offering
gratitude to the earth and sky

but from my father
i thought i heard a grunt
or a sigh, or a snore
between sealed lips,
he was dreaming
while he knelt in front
of a church pew
tiredness, perhaps.