by mposadasn

I often cry
because I miss Him.
I just really miss Him.



Sometimes I imagine that we were there when Father God began to pull the strings of the world together, and he put our favorite colors into the fabric of our universe.
He held our hands.
And we made him laugh.
And it was that laugh that made the world ice over for ages
so we could ice skate,
When we shivered, he called out the fire

From the heat between our hands,
the lava flowed and covered the surfaces.
We walked together: he taught us about shade.
Told us to breathe in and out
and trees grew around us.
Where he told us stories of how gloriously mangoes tasted.

And even then,
we sort of knew how they tasted
because we trusted him, we could taste
on the tips of our tongues.

Sister,      brother…           We forgot.

We forgot how to breathe. And we saw death in our dreams.
We slept next to demons. Loneliness.
Our necks forgot what it was like to move with the sun.

[I fed death with the sides of my body
I kept it napping in my heart by sacrificing hunger to it
I let it scratch the walls of my thoughts,
I bowed down to it every time my knees hit the bathroom floor, and I
sacrificed the meal my mother had made as an offering]
because we believed it wouldn’t inhale our memory.

In the shade, we said
I think we whispered it, actually. We saw his chest. And it was open.
The loneliness in our ears dissipating into the vacuum of his heart.

He never told us that he missed us.
He spoke in a tense nobody knows how to speak in. Eternal.
We did tell him that we missed him-

I think it tickles his belly that our humanity is adamant in believing that his presence comes when our hearts are prepared.
He sits in the shade,
and he tells us he loves our humanity. As he continues to pray over us in the eternal tense
And he loves us in the eternal tense,

So he hands us a peeled mango,
and we eat together

in the shade.