Cyclical Questions

there’s a problem with faith. Yes, I’ve seen mothers with interlaced fingers & optimistic minds will god into sick children. Faith firm as cinderblocks, building retaining walls against floods of adversity. Yet, I’ve seen fathers with frayed hair & sweat-stained shirts fall broken, like bone china to the weight of brackish, ebon water. The duality of faith, cinderblock strong, tea cup thin leaves me with more questions than answers. So I’ve stopped looking at others for proof. I see god in the bright orange webbed feet of the ducks on Lake Mission, kicking with ferocity at unyielding water. I see god in the grapevine, each aphid praying. I see god in the stomach of every mother possum, children clinging to her back & have to believe they’re all made of concrete, but