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
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