Sunday Morning
By Barbara Burrow
Like a ritual
Every Sunday morning,
Sweeping the kitchen floor
With an old-fashioned broom.
While the rest of the family
Ran around in a frenzy getting dressed
For Sunday School and church.
Sweeping the kitchen floor with such concentration,
In a world of his own.
Holding the broom so tightly
As if someone might try to take it away from him.
Wonder what he was thinking about…
While he was sweeping the kitchen floor.
Was he trying to get in the mood for church…
Was he thinking about his past war experiences…
Was he thinking about his family,
Father, mother, wife, and daughters…
Was he thinking about his job…
Was he worried about something we knew nothing about…
Was he only concentrating on getting the floor clean…
I will always wonder…
Copyright 2001
