Ask the Wind to Blow
by Terry Belew
Full disclosure: I played bass
in a worship band for three months
and never felt moved, though
I wanted to. I wanted to weep
on an altar and look at the sky
and feel. I wanted to bask, smile,
be certain of certainty.
My dad tells this story
of taking a Cessna into the woods
to go hunting, the pilot looking
back at the three men and asking
their weight, then said We’ll give it a shot.
Now, I Facetime my cancer-ridden mother,
who keeps avoiding chemo
because she doesn’t want
to lose her chemical blond
hair. I tell her she should do it
and she cries and feels something
when my toddler son touches her face
through the smartphone
screen. It’s nearly spring, the church sign
says Try God and I’m unsure which to choose.
This poem first appeared in Skink Beat Review.
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