The Sunday Letter

by Dan Overgaard

          for Sharon

After the warm red hymnals and the spell
of nineteenth-century four-part harmony;
long after the relentless altar call
invoked a mournful, unrequited Christ;
after the grape juice and the crust were blessed;
after the saving grace of the last hymn
echoed along the rows of metal chairs;
after the organ's lungs dismissed the Ghost;
after the silky noose released my neck
again; after the flirting on the stairs;
after the garlic pork and stir-fried rice;
after a game of checkers I went in,
and lay down to begin my letter home.