Young Aunt Carol saw you
cradling the eggs from the henhouse
in your apron
caressing the creamy shells
under the slow stream of tap water.
This devoted attention,
soft acts...
I prefer parables
to these lines about lines
of fine print
and even finer print
of the precepts you print
and publish and prescribe
for me.
and for all the fine...
You walked under the trees of the garden
Fingertips touching each braille of bark
You Paused,
Listening so carefully to the breeze moving every branch,
that you began...
I lay my hands on your head
To give you a blessing.
Like my ancestors.
My three times great-grandmothers
Who kneaded dough and then healed.
Calling out for god
Ministering...
I know without a shadow of a doubt.
The certainty – an unassailable wall for my
fifteen-year-old mind.
The cold stone barring the warmth of —
Belonging.
Doubts swoop...
Faith isn’t like a seed
It’s a garden grown within.
Winter flowers bloom in chill
As daisies burst in spring
Leaves once bright in autumn
Rot away in mud...
You carry yourself like a leftover
meal, your back an arched rib bone.
You think yourself alone in doubts,
alone in the way your arteries stretch
your yearnings...