Dad and I drive west

three hours every Sunday

to Coldwater:

A barely-there town in the miles between

Medicine Lodge and Meade,

remnants on the Kansas plains.

Dad teaches Sunday school

and I chat with the youngest

church member,

a 78-year-old

farm wife.

Dad's sermons are all stories.

We pray for the kids

and the ill

and for rain.

"We're so blessed to have you here,"

they tell me.

They tell me honestly,

though my only specialty

is my less than thirty years.