Another poetry magazine arrived in my mail this week. Time of Singing is a Christian publication. There’s a poem by me in there, but the poem I want to talk about is called “Saved” by William Jolliff of Oregon. I’ll only quote the first stanza:
In the cinderblock churches of Fulton County
the Sunday school rooms were catacombs.
Like not quite empty bins of gray potatoes
I can remember my Sunday school rooms quite clearly, too. They are an interesting subject. One of them was the tiny church library. Another was a room partitioned off by a sliding, corrugated wall (help me out here… I can’t think of the right word for that). The room contained a brown felt banner showing a cornucopia and the words “How Great Thou Art.” When I think of Sunday School, I think of long tables and cold gray folding chairs. I think of the brown Berber carpet. I think of old, kind teachers. I think of being asked questions (I don’t remember if I answered them or not; maybe very quietly; maybe I shrugged). Interestingly enough, I don’t remember the lessons. I don’t remember doing memory work (I’m sure I did do that; I just don’t remember it.) It was the things I stared at that I remember most.