a prayer, i promise
God sat in my living room,
postured like a childhood
drawing of a family friend
with hair too red and a mustache
too thick, but strangely familiar;
of course, i paid no attention
as i was mired by your permanence
watching you walk
from the bedroom to the bathroom
and perching myself in a chair
where i could see you on your walk
in return, a queen’s majesty
coiled beneath the weight of a towel
cos you, dear, are a carbon-copy
of man in the image of perfection
and every curled tress from your scalp
separates you from those i’ve loved
before and after you; so i watch,
your eyes as they catch the new skin
stretching around your hips
and your fingers as they reach for your bones,
exploring the curvature
which signals your womb
as a fertile bed of life
as much as it signals insecurity
which haunts every glance in the mirror
you asked me once to draw you
and i promised too, but only
in two stages of this moment
the haphazard movement of your thighs,
and arms and head and hands
winding illogically through your towel
like the interstate circumscribing downtown
and the slow trickle of blood from your vulva
dissipating along the inside of your thigh
and reminding us all you are alive.
glory be to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit
as it was, is now, and ever shall be.
amen.