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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