How God Speaks
Not with face slap or body slam
Rarely with lightening bolt or thunderclap
But in sighs and inclinations leanings
The way a baby suckles breath
The green current of the hazel wand
Curves toward the underground spring
The man in cashmere flesh does arrive
Holding out his arms he is wide
As any horizon I've ever traversed desert for
He brings thread count to my bed
Fire to my oven With a towel tucked
In his jeans he soaps my hair
Then finger combs it dry
I massage a knot from his neck
His mouth is well water
His gaze true and from
His tongue he brings the blessed Word
Mary Karr is the Peck Professor of Literature at Syracuse University. This poem comes from her book Tropic of Squalor (New York: HarperCollins, 2018).