My Father's Arms
My mother held me like
My father held me like a question
that I could never hear.
My grandfather held me like a flag.
When I embrace my friends
I listen with my skin
and with my breath,
let love soak slowly from my pores
and stay until they drop their grip
and stand up straight.
Sometimes I just lie on the grass
The sky watches my face
until I sleep.
If I imagine how
I'd like to feel the arms of God,
I would like the Father to hold me
like someone who was looking at my face,
like someone who was safe to fall asleep on,
like someone who knew how.
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