Sunday

by Maxine Clair

there were times she would play the piano
she would throw back her head and her wavy black hair would
                                                  dangle
she would strike the chords and move on the piano stool
                                                   and sing
Lord Jesus can I have a talk with you
Lord Jesus won't be long till I'll be through
and tears would be streaming down puffy rust cheeks
if there is no God there ought to be
the way she played and cried