fresh from his bath__I clip my son’s
toenails__& somehow the non-smelly
fact of his washed feet conjures the Jesús

of my youth:—for a child he was giant
& silent & pungent & hard
for school children not to burn

down with torches of honesty
my poor family only stayed in that poor town
long enough for me to fall for Jesús

me: already the clumsy collector of
the castoff—my heart’s false population
of hurt things rising__during dance class

as kids fled & sniggered__I lingered
in the center of that room until Jesús
& I (the new kid__myself quiet & odd)

remained the only non-pair__each time
the music began__a smile was all
Jesús needed to let loose__& I swear

I could feel his shuffle shifting
the boards beneath our feet__& his reckless
big-body twirl threatened to tear

my short arms from their sockets
those were my earliest denials
of communal pain: the cost of looking

into eyes ignited & made familiar
with joy—of being dangled
by the danger of hands you aren’t ready

to release__& I carried that soreness home
like prayer—: to the everlasting scent & size
of Jesús__to the ungainly world of his grace

As in, John 3:16: For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.