Our Hands Are Tied

When we were seconds away,
the four of us in a line,
watching it unfold,
I prayed.

Three men in shirts and ties and
one stunning woman, out of
place and at least one
was praying.

“God, I’ve had a lot going on.
I feel alone most days
and I hate to sleep
all alone.

Sometimes I wonder if I can
do anything anymore
without fucking it
all up.

God, right now, I’m not asking
for anything to go right
except for this one
little thing.”

The kid hesitated, and I thought,
this is going to be like
everything else.
Damn it.

And then it happened, all at once,
something I never thought
I would see, atleast not
in Muncie.

Two bodies, intertwined, spinning
recklessly and yet perfectly
in sync, holding each
other close.

Three men in shirts and ties and
one stunning woman, out of
place and captivated by
men in tights.

I stood to my feet and lifted my
hands and could only ask
a tired, frail question
“Good Lord…”

Looking at the promoter in the
corner, and also at God,
I mouthed the words
“Thank you.”

Maybe he didn’t know its name,
or she didn’t know what had
happened, but we all
felt it.

In that moment I forgot about
heartache and abandon
and remembered to
believe and hope.

“God, if what they say is true,
and everything here is fake,
I don’t know what’s
real anymore.”

Three men in shirts and ties and
one stunning woman, out of
place and all smiling
together.