our spines lay safe in the arms of our mothers, and the napes of our necks caressed by the hands of our fathers. when was the last time it felt this safe? piano practice after school, tainted by hands that made you play a minor key. bruised cheeks, warmed by the softer side of the pillow. maybe on this side of heaven, we learn to hug each other with tissues of flesh that bleed.
tenderness, may we find it. calloused finger tips, playing soft melodies on guitar strings. shut windows, blocking noise from the outside. all the little ways we die. under the eye of the shower, under the watch of the night, under the loving gaze of the maker.
but come alive, because we are all at the porch peeling oranges for you. the sun sets like honey, waxing the day away. come around for dinner, there’s a seat for you at the table, and we’ll wash your feet. Like John did Jesus, you can rest your head on our chests. we’ll play all your favorite artists that nobody else knows about, and stars will align. even if they don’t, your spine will lay safe in our arms, the nape of your neck caressed by our hands.
when was the last time it felt this safe? you’ll ask.
and we’ll answer, as long as you stay awhile, tenderness finds you.