The men who taught me
hope were barely any more
than a couple of kids with

organ shoes that thumped
together in bags slung over
their shoulders, always.

They smiled clumsily and
didn’t always meet my
eyes when we spoke,

all of them at times
only whispers in a crowd,
straining to be heard,

yet at a moment’s notice
they shoved the clutter off
a bench in a storage room

and dusted off the keys
so they could sit and
speak for God.