Polluted Hands Hold the Sea (SM).jpg

By Sujal Manohar

Going to Church

By Aiyanna Kimble

The man I love says there is no God.
With lips that could bring the Devil to his knees
And a voice that could carve the Red Sea.
And me?
And me wishing I could believe him.
 
But I have called out to angels in between our sheets
And seen a woman’s thighs part and say grace.
In this place, there is too much sin
To not have a savior to sing praise.
And hallelujah be to the most high
For the sunset in October and a jar to catch fireflies
For a grandma
Who doesn’t pronounce the “r” in fire and is too scared to fly
But laughs with so much glory
You can see golden gates in her brown eyes.
 
See, how Layah’s laugh can heal a weary man’s soul
She is 30-cubits-high and only three years old.
When momma’s heart needs an ark
Her playdoh covered elbows are both stern and bow.
 
And momma may not be Mary
But every time I am crucified she has laid at my feet.
Tell me what science you seek
When every day she breathes
Must bear a miracle.
 
I want to say
“My love, the Lord may not walk this Earth
But it shows no shortage of His work.
When Jesus left, he blessed
Every valley and every peak, and He left you
Here with me.”