by Jamie Yonker

A Case Study of a Sunday

I was never good at public speaking. 

Hushed around a Sunday supper, 

Who wants to pray aloud? 

I’m six years old, tight lips, 

bowed head. 

Twenty years later, 

I’m kneeling on a bathroom mat, 

begging as if I’m at the Lord’s table, 

or weeping at his feet. 

When does the word please 

become a prayer of its own. 

Chanting: 

Come on Dad, you can do it 

Like I’m reciting Hail Marys 

Or rooting at a child’s baseball game. 

Even scarier than death by rotten lungs, 

Is a full recovery, 

Just to return home, 

Sit on the couch, 

And drink. 

Guardian angel fly buzzes  

And bumps into the mirror, 

Vermin intruder 

Or godsend itself, 

Wings humble and soft as hope. 

I remember phantom Sundays, 

Stationed in my seat longest, 

Mom insisting that I finish my steak 

before I leave the table. 

So I drown it in ketchup 

and swallow it down whole. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jamie Yonker is a fourth-generation midwestern poet who draws inspiration from the intersection of alcoholism and spirituality. As a child, she never witnessed her father’s depiction in the media or in waking life, thus Jamie took it upon herself to be the voice she hadn’t stumbled upon in her younger years. When not looking for god in the small places, she can usually be found sitting on a humble Lake Michigan beach or beckoning a street cat near her home in Grand Rapids, MI.

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