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Sursum Corda
by todd copeland
"Quicken me with thy righteousness,"
I read in the King's English from Psalm 119
before looking up from the lectern
as the last word hissed over the heads
of the Friday prayer service faithful.
Faces-three dozen or so staring up
from the chapel's pews at the fraud I was
and not one I knew from Adam's.
I returned to my seat on the dais
as the sermon began. Susan, the thought
of you witnessing my pose before
the Baptist congregation in my best suit
made me smile. But you were a world away
napping at home, a primipara
embarrassed by her eighth-month bulge.
Remember those prenatal months
when you had to sleep facing left?
We switched sides of the bed
so you could pass the night
without my breath on your face.
Post partum, now we lie side by side
inclined toward each other,
bordering a son. You say this
is the life you've always wanted.
Your career's fitfulness has come to an end.
We're anything but quickened as we fall asleep.
The soft exchange of breaths face to face
goes unchecked-liturgical and orthodox.
Our five-years marriage has become a family.