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Dana Amdahl


Photo of reading at celebrationHe Wants to Save Me, Dammit

He asks me if I know God,
Asks if I am worth saving.
I am getting my kids and their
Backpacks, lunch boxes, gym clothes, trombones, size 10 feet
Out of my car
So that they can get their
Washed faces, music books, winter coats, size 10 feet
Back on the road to piano lessons in fifteen minutes.
All I really want to do is get the mail,
Check on the guy laying tile in my bathroom,
Call my mother,
Pour a glass of wine,
Make Friday night plans with my friends,
Wait for my husband to come home.
So I say, “Yes, sir, I know God. I have a church.”
And turn away.
What I really mean is
Get the hell off my step you self-righteous, hypocritical,
Bible-banging bastard.
“Will piano lessons get you to heaven?” he shouts to my back.
Later, as I drowse on the piano teacher’s couch listening to my children pound out
Their joyful noise,
I think
Everything is alright and
I probably should have been firmer, wittier, kinder,
Yes, kinder to the man.
I think
I should have said, “Yes, I do believe
Piano lessons will get me into heaven.”