Growing up in God's House -- revision

[Todd]

Hi Lizzie just a few comments for you. I didn't really read RiverNotch's critique though I did see his mention to Louise Gluck's The Wild Iris collection. I can see where he's getting that vibe from this piece (I've read that collection maybe 300 times by now--sounds a bit like "September Twilight" in tone). Okay back to your poem.

They said it was His house,
the church— --The title makes this unnecessary. I think it reads better anyway just moving directly from line 1 to 3
that He was in the air
all around us,
and we could hear him whisper--This feels like one of those poems where I think the edit is meant to chip away to the essence. I think it would be more evocative to end the strophe on whisper and cut the next two lines
if we believed
that we could hear.

I looked for God the way some people look for ghosts
and dread meeting celebrities. -- I really like the originality of these thoughts. I would consider making them your opening lines.

I knelt by the altar
like the adults who wept there,
playing make believe,--Again too much narrative will kill this. I would consider ending the strophe here.
seeking
an experience of my own.

I opened the 6-foot grand piano
and played from the hymnal
or from my mom's sheet music--even if you are relating true narrative it probably makes more thematic sense to only use the mom's sheet music as it implies that you are following a paternal pattern not making your own way yet.
that always sat at the end of the front left pew.--doesn't add anything
She told me once that she saw Him
come out of the 20-foot tall cross
behind the choir during a service
and that it bled electric red.--nice visual.
She said He asked her if she was ready for Heaven— --Maybe tighten up a bit by cutting She said. This would be a good place to break and have the following line stand alone.
She asked for more time.

Sometimes I climbed up the steps to the pulpit
where only one man was allowed to stand.
On tiptoes, I looked out at the empty pews--maybe over instead of at
and said prayers
into the unresponsive microphone.

I looked for God the way people look for funnel clouds
and dread seeing the dead one day,--for parallel structure possibly do a break here. 
the way I never stared directly at that cross again
for fear
of what otherworldly things I might see.--These lines probably need to be moved closer to the mother's experience above and woven in.

I grew up in His house—
He was there, but only half-aware,
all the time above me,
all the time
                 wordless,
waiting for me to discover fire
and finally
earn His love.--This all could be tightened some from I grew up to the end but I find it a satisfying ending--so probably just minor style cuts.

---

~For rowans, who shares my love of empty sanctuaries.

I like and write poems about belief and unbelief so these themes will always draw me in. I hope some of the comments help with revision.

Best,

Todd