The Rebel

The Rebel

Perhaps the lover is the outlaw in ourselves

 we don’t quite have the nerve to claim.

– Rosemary Sullivan

The first time I saw water more vast than Superior, water more

vast than my town, water migrating more intensely than my father worked

I learned that God was real.

The first time I saw trees that had endured generations, trees that

extended to Venus, trees that grew slower than a turtle crawls

I learned that God made things bigger than me.

The first time I saw a mother give life, the mother thoroughbred naked in the field,

my mother screaming and pushing, screaming and pushing in room 409,

I learned that God made us with purpose.

When I first saw you my cells rumbled, the surface of my skin reached for air,

my internal organs grabbed my bones for stability, you asked me for—of all things—

directions and I loved you instantly.

I guess opposites do attract, because you certainly defied my beliefs. It was not my intention

to confront the convictions that reared me; I had always been taught to follow my heart.

And if I seemed lost forgive me—I never learned in school what to do once I met you.

After this climactic turn in my journey to knowledge I searched for more natural signs

of the Divine to restore my mind: Water. Tree. Thoroughbred.

Instead, I found myself seeing God in your eyes, your hands, your heart—

proof I had chosen a love not given but made.