sunday two-in-the-afternoon eating strawberries
asking about god with cursory curiosity
like he’s a new boyfriend
like he’s an unproven lover
how do you know him? what’s he like?
your eyes all soft and serious in the reply
you tell me but i’m not listening,
you tell me all
the high mysteries
spilling from your lips all
the secrets of faith and love and grace but
i’m caught by the dappled late-august light on your cheek and
the soft cream fuzz of your sweater against your ear—
that’s god, you say—
and i miss it
i’m watching you watch the birds and i’ve missed it all
and all the same
i don’t think i’ve missed anything at all
Helen Song is an MS1 at the Perelman School of Medicine.
