who chased me 'round the playground
with your grabby hands:
you said i was your husband
and our babies would soon be born
by the jungle gym.
i at age eight knew not how
my babies wound up in your belly,
nor did i care that you tore me away
from my foursquare game.
i embraced those pea stones
as you embraced God, your hands thinning
and your hair thinning,
the gap between your teeth filled
with Christ's sweet body
which was just too filling
for you. i waited to see your babies
but you have none.
i waited to see where your Bible
ended up falling
(it's right at home in Alabama).
i waited to see where your red hair
would finally fall out—
but now it is blonde
and clinging on for dear life.