Things are worse the farther we get
from your aliveness.
I thought I could fill it with action,
the holes you left,
but I keep returning to the stillness
of my bed. I can’t run at night.
My dreams tangle into you. I turn corners
into what should be empty rooms
and you are in them. There you are—
in the morning I tell my grandmother
about my dreams. That you are exploring—
in my house in Nashville, where you’ve never been,
you do not speak. You are observant.
You do not smile. You are not sure
about this death thing yet.
I am not so sure about this death thing yet.
You never did trust anything easily.
Would repeat yourself over and over,
wanted people to get things right.
You’re putting God through the wringer right now.
She’s trying to convince you to trust her,
don’t you know she’s God?
You tell her you were always told God
was a man, is she sure she’s God?
But you should know why—
you were always surrounded by us women.
You could never have been given a man as God.
He never could have convinced you to sit down,
have a few more bites,
stay.
