First Edit: Sunday School

[nibbed]

hi Richard, my last critique revealed how your poem affected/troubled me, without giving a good critique, so, here goes another:


Sunday School                                          -The title makes me think of lessons learned through church

I
Wine sipped in an unlit room,                      - wine or whine?
to spill any is a sin.                                      - a warning of either impropriety or error
The mug shapes the liquid                           - here's what I saw as hidden personification
like a good parent should.                                                                       but mug and whine seem to clash

“Father, is it Christmas yet?”                         - this took me back to your last poem about autism

“Father, when is Easter?”                                 which made it confusing in my own mind

Old questions I'd like to think
are make-believe.                                                          

II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,
darkness supports it with a devilish smile.

The light comes on, flickering like his stutter,                  -up to this point I feel the presence of the challenged child from your last poem
salvation a lie my parents sold me                                  - troubling
so they could buy a paper from their priest.               

He used to leer at me, they never noticed.                      - this stanza is most exceptional. I wish it could be a poem on its own.
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
their anger thunder without lightning.

III
I am a snowflake                                                                 - I like that you pulled this one apart.  I like the whole of it.
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,
surrounded by those
who only care
about their descent.
I will fall
and melt.

IV
The wine burns now,
the whole way down,
even worse when it comes out.
There is staining, my hair is white,
untouched.

Unanswered prayers dead in the grass,                                         - I get a little confused here. Is the body of the prayer dismembered?
the body dismembered, violated,
unrecognizable to loved ones.
I'm the one who found the corpse,
thought it sleeping,
played tough with the authorities                                                   - the authorities is mystery
only to cry myself to sleep,                                                             - troubling, still                                                         
afraid to dream.


Personally the poem was a great big giant metaphor. But if we look at it simply it tells another, sadder, story. If this is a personal write
I am sorry. I hope you are okay and find healing and comfort.

-nibbed