I took the family bible from its shelf
There was a whiff of sadness
Not of paper or leather
Not of lives lived
But of some bug eyed oath
From a small “G” god
Who didn’t sing
Who didn’t build homes
And never spared the drowning children
An odor they knew in my family
And evidently in yours
Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University