Gio/OutWrite
I don’t feel God in wooden pews,
Children forced to
Sit still,
Stay quiet,
Their childish giggles and joy
Silenced
In the name of the Lord.
I don’t feel God in prayer,
Hunched over my bed at night,
My knees growing sore,
My spine bending over itself
In deference
To talk to one who calls themself
My divine family.
I don’t feel God at the dinner table,
Slicing red meat and potatoes,
Or holding my grandfather’s hand
As he chants a prayer that he doesn’t
understand.
He recites it regardless.
It sets him above the rest.
I feel God in the cats on the side of the road,
Huddled together for warmth,
Still finding time to play.
I feel God in the person who sees them,
Who picks them up and tucks them
Into their warm coat,
And feeds them warm milk,
While murmuring that
Everything
Will be alright.
I feel God in the pen on a page
In the blood that flows
Through the veins of poetry,
Breathing life with every word.
In how pride is not a sin,
But an understanding
Of basking in the shared power
Of creation.
I feel God in her.
In the way she looks at me.
In the way her skin feels under my hand.
How when she’s near me
I can understand why Eve
Was God’s crowning jewel.
I feel God in the way she grabs my hair.
In the way she prays when I taste her,
I feel God in the way that I
Worship.