Wayward

 

I’ve misplaced my thoughts about God

They are here

Somewhere

On the shelf between a pack of tarot cards and my Chomsky book

In the back of the drawer stained with red ink not blood

On the lips of a love

Under the tongue of another

Floating around in memories of my mother

I find stray bobby pins every single day so theology is close

No doubt

Under the wise line drawing of my nine-year-old

Inside the cracks of the coffee cup

My brake light comes on a lot now – Is that one?

The flexed quadriceps of a Philly dancer

The friend of a friend with cancer

God is mystery not answer

I have them – thoughts about God

They are here

Somewhere

Caught in the bathroom sink strainer

Hidden on the cold side of the pillow

Pulled with lint from my pocket to the dresser

These faded found coins

And the incomprehensible

 

 

 

By Brandon Mitts. Brandon is a painter and a writer from Oklahoma, and for the last twenty years, his feet have worn a curious path through arts and ministry. Visit brandonmitts.com to see more things from his creative world.

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