I would kneel, knee to wood
if it pleased you.
I would lay forehead to the ground
if it were a need to.
But in the deepest corner of my heart
I hear your voice.
You reach out and take my hand.
“No need to get dirty, come sit with me,” you say.
I sink into the cushions.
Sit for a minute.
I want time to slow down.
I want to wear every moment on my skin.
My body feels too small for all that I feel.
My eyes feel heavy and wet,
you see a lifetime of mischief in them,
I see endless tenderness in yours.
My crooked grin: your creation.
The stubborn tilt to my chin: mine.
You look at me with pride,
and I'm humbled.
“What of all my mistakes?” I ask.
“Who says they were just mistakes?”
And then we talk.
I tell you everything.
Everything you already know.
“You gave me some harsh returns at times.”
“Only when you were serving hard,” you answer.
I'm silent but I'm nodding.
I get it.
I would kneel, knee to wood,
would lay forehead to the ground–
but in the deepest corner of my heart
I hear your voice