All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Ahava
I kissed the corner of a prayer book
before I ever kissed a boy.
Swinging limply on worn rubber
soles captured brusquely in your
cinnamon eyes (they sparked in holy
water, those frayed wires),
I discovered the hollowness of bones
and the fragility of theism.
I composed soliloquys to the joy
of giving up while you somehow/where/day
learned the taste of strawberry
in lamplight. This is where we
two separately discovered we were not,
as I once thought, pebbles stacked
and stable, their angle of repose
unreached as of yet, still waiting to crumble
under the weight of affirmation. Hear,
O Israel, the lord is our God, and
God is dead. I am cobblestone, and
you are a hooved lullaby (we are the grass
in the cracks). We are not dead yet.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 1 comment.