It hurts to think God doesn’t
love her dangling dainty pale
feet in life’s silvery flow flowing
like a wingy compressing air
against speed boiling like lead
in a vat or concrete hardening
hurts to see her flinging limbs
towards love forgetting the flow
silvery sizzling cramped. Who
is she her punishment is such?
Who is God a thing to allow
a silvery flow and bubbling
lead and cold insides hell and
a girl a slip a mere one born
to be cupped in loving palms
not reaching for what is out
of grasp. Who’s reader, poet,
with hurt defining God as if
it were possible remotely so.
Sarah Sarai
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-flow-a-flowing-flow/
