From what he chose

A small line of sweat

washing his upper lip,

he lay on a single bed

in a room with pale green walls,

searching through the catalog

for some sign of a future,

as if a course listing could

suddenly leap from the page

and encircle his imagination

or at least suggest what

to register for in the fall but

nothing suggested itself, and

the choice remained what

it had been all along, really:

theology or words, ministry or

writing, God business or news

business, both a priesthood,

both jostling each other

for his soul. From what

he chose he made a life.

This poem is submitted for today’s history (personal or otherwise) prompt at dVerse Poets. To see more poems submitted for the prompt, please visit dVerse Poets.

This is also a poem in the series of poems about growing up in the South, suggested by my friend Nancy Rosback.

Photograph: “Which Way?” by Mike Coates via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.