God Looks Different These Days

I saw her on Market, her hair falling down over her face as she carried her son on one hip and her groceries on the other, she found time to smile at him in between breathes as she walked to calm his fuss

God looks different these days,

he was down town, holding the body of his brother convulsing, sick from withdrawal, so tight against his skin, unrelenting in his love, unwavering in his care

God looks different these days,

She helped me carry my luggage down the Civic Center steps, an escalator stopped, so she carried it down with one hand, tossing her cigarette so she could shake mine and introduce herself with the other, she didn’t need to, I saw the light in her eyes, I knew her name

God looks different these days,

They stopped the bus just one block early at the unspoken request of another, the sidewalk is much better for the wheels of his chair to move across, they knew this already, they do this every day

God looks different these days,

When I saw her tears as she grieved the loss of nations, her keffiyeh drawn around her face as it turned red from overwhelm, she handed out water to the protesters, the only words spoken were in chant and “What do you need?”

God looks different these days,

I found them in distant friends, a book sent, and words exchanged across an ocean, taking time to ask me of my understanding of the good, not shaming my hesitancy of chapels and deity

God looks different these days,

She is allowing me the space that I need, but never lets me question her love for me, even in the unknowing of what our story will be

God looks different these days,

I do not know how faith in the unknown became a staple of the worshipers play, when I see her every day, their form taking another, his light guiding the way