Dolores

Kennedy Harder / V Mag at UVA

In July of twenty twenty I listened to Dolores sing,

my mother and I on the black leather of car seats an empty

church parking lot just off the road. We wait for the

storm to pass, the sky is furious with water falling down

in sheets washing the windshield, I sat mystified,

enchanted, diminished. 

The heaven’s release like percussion around me

and then the guitar too, the drums, and her voice

like a ray: 

“Oh, my life is changing every day”