Church couldn’t help me with it anymore.
If you want to keep me, treat me like a child before bedtime. Invite me to your story time or to hear your poetry read aloud. Sit up in a chair and let the room go quiet. Give it pause. Let the space hang. Let me sit on the floor, leaning back on my elbows, poking my legs out straight and wobbling side to side. Crack a book open, lick your finger, and let me hear the page. Read in rhythm. Use your narrator voice, crescendo. Sing a song and I’ll become unaware of my body, my mouth hanging open as I go with you.
I am always hungry for this, for a story to swallow me whole.