I’ll begin with asking for forgiveness.
My body failed you.
My own creation, so uneventful, as told
by my Mother,
as if life has no mystery at all. Some have
claimed breath breathed
into dust shaped man on the sixth day,
yet there are
some who argue proof of existence
began with a combustion
of elements. Why didn’t someone
tell me upon which altar
I should have laid sacrifice? The science
of creation surrounds me
except the miracle of two hearts beating
in one being.
I’m sorry that you’ll never know
how rain soothes
as it falls upon a tin roof or how
delicious it feels
to have late afternoon sun warm
cold hands while
chasing falling leaves or how the
fuzz on ripe peach
skin tickles the tongue. I have
no answers to why
some vessels are unable
to carry water.