When God Falls Asleep

By Gabi P   

At some point, I came to the conclusion that God lived in the ground.
Why else would they talk to Him hunched over, heads bowed?

My next hypothesis was that God must be sleeping.
Why else would prayers be whispered?

Eventually, I decided touch was holy.

I knew, the first time my dad crossed the street with me and he didn’t reach for my hand.

And I knew, the night that boy laced my thighs with his tongue.

I laid on my back, I was quiet.
He must’ve thought I was praying.

On his knees, head bowed,
He whispered into my open spaces.

I guess he mistook my push as pull,
my shivers as surrender,
my silence as worship.

I couldn’t remember any hymns that night.

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