there are loves you will feel that
will split you open from your core,
and in directions
you will not be able to name.
loves that, after feeling them,
If you ever had been able to,
you will no longer see it fit
to question your God.
you have always had me wrapped
finger, even when your hands weren’t big enough to
hold mine —
your palm-sized hugs choired gospel;
called me altar-side —
I would try to wrap my
around your hands.
I cried watching your first steps —
your mother had to promise me
all I had to do was say your name,
and you would always come back
and you would always fit in my arms —
I dried my face, and hastily
and called for my Grace,
but when you turned around,
so proud that you were like your big brother
your smile broke me back open.
I suppose it might as well be sooner, rather than later
you discover men to be
crying creatures, whether or not
we like to admit it.