With a deadness in our eyes
heavyset and unblinking
chewing on words we’ve been whittling since
five years ago in youth group
sitting on that grandpa-plaid couch

I have a voice memo of you reading
The Great Commission in pidgin
Hawai’i Creole
a way to start your sermon
laughing with the young ones
about how silly it sounds
so exotic and foreign and tickly
Today you are a different shade of brave
posting a photo of 
your three-layer peanut butter sandwich
while this world is reeling

How church kids get angry–
with these words we’ve been watering
pressing into fertile soil with
the palms of our hands
These words that that will dig in like
a cuticle pusher that slips
when we finally bloom them