The Preacher’s Daughter Who Fell In Love With A Girl

She was raised
to keep her eyes up.

Her father told her
to keep her knees straight
and her sexuality straighter.

But who was he
to tell her what was holy?
What was sacred?

She could see it everywhere.
In the flickering
streetlights,

in the crowds,
all the faces with
their own amens–
their own psalms.

She could hear it
just by listening
to the lonesome dog
bark at the darkened
nothing of night.

But most of all
she could see it in
a girl with an
achingly tender face
and small hands.

The soft laugh of God
lived in her mouth,
in her bones.

She could see it
there, just outside
of her vision.

Not up. But here.
In front of her.

By Shelby Asquith