Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs
By Laura Stamps

The sunrise this morning is a fire
on the tip of the tongue, a wild hallelujah
dressed in petals of light, blessing
the sky with its scarlet grace.
Second week of June, and crape myrtles
jump-start a neighborhood in bloom,
every branch clutching ruffled coils
of lavender, white, or fuchsia,
spinning delirious hymns of color.
Even on a day as merciful as this,
there are people who will be cranky.
Who knows why?
Better to bless them and hurry on
to the tall cities of the trees,
where the daily liturgy hums
to the tinkling tune of bark, berry, and leaf.
Every afternoon a brown-headed cowbird
dines on the grass seed I sprinkle in the yard,
as if she knows there’s plenty
for her, and plenty for me—
more than enough to inspire tiny
congregations of slender shoots
slowly marching their green psalms
across the empty spots in the lawn.
Dandelions quilt an abandoned field
with swatches of sun-sizzle,
while magnolias hold the fragrance
of summer in pale palms.
Crankiness is a habit I refuse to develop
as long as there is the feather
of a chance that my life
might become a sweet song.