This wistful little thing just got published in The Broken Teacup Volume 2. I’m happy to see how nicely it fits in with all the other reflections and fragments of moments in the other poems there.
“Do you believe in god?” I asked my three year-old brother.
“Yes, I think so. What about you?”
“No. I don’t think I do.”
He was the cathedral and I, the unbeliever.
His small hands built altars from lego blocks
moving in wordless prayer. I watched like a stranger
staring out to sea, not searching for justification
but the faint edges of something vaster.
He didn’t care if I knelt beside him. He’s already a congregation,
face like a sunflower seeking the sun.
I didn’t care for the old man in the clouds. Just the boy
who believed in tending his own heaven.
