Evangelist came to town last week
strove to save some souls.
No wonder!

He believes souls are
gossamer and silk, soft,
shaken by breezes,
driven in the wind,
so much drying laundry
cinched by thin clothes pins
to a fraying line.

No worry!

My soul’s made of homespun
wool, woven on the old loom
just off grandma’s kitchen
next to the fireplace
where, one hot winter night
my poppa knew my mother
on the rug beneath the mantle
while the coals glowed golden

I recon’ this preacher’s got it
wrong-
souls nature is earth rock
Burial but a homecoming
to an old familiar bed.